Love, War
by Mirrordance
Summary: Concluded.The War brought them together,the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Warning: Slash.
1. All Over Your Hands

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

" " "

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

" " "

Chapter One: All Over Your Hands

" " "

Eastern Borders of Eryn Lasgalen

" " "

Legolas Greenleaf, proud warrior prince of Eryn Lasgalen, suddenly found himself at a lull after downing an Easterling foe. Such things often happened in a battle, this breath of air, when one suddenly found the self without an enemy, everyone else around him otherwise engaged. Such pauses were often regarded as a blessing, to catch one's breath with, to take stock of how the fight was progressing. It was also a curious lull that should inexplicably connect you to those you shared it with, especially a foe, like the one the elven warrior spotted some steps away. In that precise moment, at the singling out of one another, the field of soldiers turned from a multitude of bulked, unseen faces into men, and expressions, and angry, determined eyes. In that precise moment, the war turned into a duel, and the brutality of the mass became a personal affront.

Legolas set his jaws, and stepped forward. The elf saw from his foe's noble garb that he was a member of the royal house. This made the fight all the more interesting. A cold smile almost touched his lips. The challenge was intoxicating, the possibilities endless. Their eyes met and settled levelly against each other as they made their way closer.

They stopped two steps away from each other, and Legolas took the time to see how well his foe was armed. The Easterling bore a rather menacing and hideously bloodied scythe. Curved blades also rested upon the leather straps on his back, yet to be used. Daggers peppered his wears, some slim ones on his belt, a larger one strapped to his boot. His built could hardly be referred to as large, comparably trim even when it was already buffered by his thick clothes and armor — beneath it, his frame was surely lean for he moved gracefully, and his feet were light and sprightly. His face was hidden underneath a helmet of bronze and silken scarlet cloths, but his eyes were a clear, sharp and stabbing silver.

_I've heard of these eyes_, Legolas realized, and his grip tightened upon his weapons determinedly as his heart pounded. _Those_ _eyes_, he thought, _the standards of _that_ royal house_…

_And a death that still felt too near_… The Death, as a matter of fact, that made Those Eyes and That House matter to him. The Death, indeed, that made the closing of Those Eyes and the very _burning_ of That House his life's mission…

Legolas knew he presented a visually lesser threat; no helmet, no armor, bearing only his twin swords and a quiver. But he had an edge of his own, from the way his foe's silver eyes widened in recognition.

"Are you, by any chance," came his foe's muffled voice as they paced about each other, "None other than Legolas of Mirkwood? My people will rejoice when I return with your head."

Legolas said nothing, and instead made the first strike. He stomped one foot on the ground, and the Easterling's warrior instincts reacted just as Legolas knew it would; the man swung in that direction, freeing an entire side of his body. Legolas twisted to avoid the attack, as he darted forward and swung his sword in a narrow arc upon his enemy's defenseless side; the narrow arc entailed less force than a wider swing, but it was far more accurate and less taxing.

The Easterling blocked it with the wooden end of his scythe. The stick splintered and broke at the tip, but it was enough to deflect the direction of the attack, catching the fabric of his clothes instead. The man jumped away from the elf, and they regarded each other in silence again.

The Easterling looked at Legolas thoughtfully. He and his soldiers were not armed at their sides. It was a weak but necessary point for more agile movement. Less observant warriors did not know of this, but he was apparently dealing with one of the best, and the small weakness was now a rather highly-noted liability. The elf was structuring his attack around that vulnerable area.

"Clever," the Easterling conceded.

"I've lived through years of the plague of your attacks to learn," Legolas said evenly.

The Easterling made the next strike first, this time around. He swung his long scythe at the elf, which of course, Legolas dodged cleanly by jumping up and out of its way. The Easterling knew the attack was futile in this sense, but it had a different purpose altogether. He released the scythe with the momentum of the swing, and with great speed, raised his arms up to claim the pair of swords upon his back. He lunged forward with both blades poised toward the elf's chest, just as Legolas was landing on his feet from his dodging jump.

They crossed blades with a clang. Legolas saw the attack, and descended already on the defense. The curved swords of the Easterling distorted most of the rules of conventional sword-fighting, but he's dealt with them before. They pressed their blades against the other, their faces moving so closely that Legolas could see the beads of perspiration on his foe's forehead.

The Easterling pushed away from Legolas with a grunt, such that he managed to secure a small space between their swords, just enough for him to twist his wrists just-so, catching Legolas' knives at the curve of his own. He swung downward, lowering Legolas' weapons along with his. The Easterling lowered his head and pounded it unto Legolas' face. His helmet hit the elf square on the forehead, disorienting him for a moment. This kind of attack was risky in the sense that for a few telling moments, one sacrificed one's line of vision. The Easterling seldom employed it, and in the few times he risked the move, he made sure it was done correctly; the force had to be strong enough to down his opponent definitively, else he would not be able to see a quick retaliation.

He would learn _the hard way _that such risks were not to be taken in a fight against Legolas of Mirkwood.

The elf blinked at the sudden pain that blinded him for the barest moment. His heart pounded, fearing not so much his death but the possibility of defeat. Instinctively, he released his swords, effectively relinquishing the force of his enemy's hold. The white knives fell with a dull thunk to the ground. He lowered himself to a crouch as well, swinging his legs beneath the Easterling's knees as he reclaimed his weapons.

The elf-warrior moved so quickly that his foe was just raising his head up to regain sight of him when the world turned upside down as he fell upon his back on the ground. The Easterling's hands slackened upon his weapons at the impact, and he felt the elf almost casually just kicking them away. The man knew precisely what that meant.

The Easterling feared to raise his head. Death or surrender? The clouds were dancing over him with the wind. The day was beautiful, the skies were so blue. Life was mocking him.

_Death or surrender?_

He pushed himself to his knees, and glanced left and right. His weapons were a remarkably hopeless one pace away. His hands felt so bare and cold without them, the morning winds drifting amidst the spaces between his fingers. And then he raised his head up at last, facing his triumphant opponent.

Legolas of Mirkwood, whose eyes theoretically shared the shade of the sky, looked down upon him coldly. Sky-light-blue looked frigid upon the anger resting on his lethal gaze, unlike the warmth of the sky-light-blue of the day. His eyes were colder than the feel of the tip of the elven swords poised delicately against the Easterling's neck.

_Death or surrender_, his mind raced, _Death or surrender…?_

The Easterling raised his arms up slowly, determined not to be deemed a threat. When the tip of the sword plunged into his body, he wondered if it was because he moved too quickly, and Legolas of Mirkwood had a nervous, jerky hand. The Easterling may have decided to surrender, but the elf's quick actions wrested the decision from him. As he lay bleeding on the ground, he looked up at his killer.

_Maybe he simply does not like me_, he concluded as his life bled away from him. Frigid sky-blue-eyes were the last things he ever saw.

" " "

" " "

'My lord?'

Legolas glanced up from the sight of the Easterling's corpse to find that the battle was coming to a close and that the army he directed was the definitive victor. His second-in-command was looking over his shoulder at his felled foe. The aging elf was his father's most trusted advisor _on loan_although Legolas was more inclined to believe that Mikael was urgently pressed upon him by King Thranduil out of fearing for his son's predicted recklessness during _This_ war.

'That was Danielli,' Mikael said to the elven prince.

'I thought it might have been,' Legolas said quietly.

Mikael watched the young prince for a moment, his age-wizened eyes as perceptive as always. 'Did it make you feel better?'

Legolas' eyes flashed at him angrily, dangerously. 'I was counting on the both of them being here. Danielli and Nicolo, twin devils. But yes, it did. I feel grand, can you not see? But have a care for yourself and do not go there.'

'He was surrendering,' Mikael pointed out, after a moment of thought, apparently considering the threat of encountering what was admittedly a formidable royal temper. He wondered what the King of Eryn Lasgalen would make of this, just as he wondered if he had failed, for his duty was essentially to be the elf prince's proverbial leash in a battle that came entirely too close to his tragic pains than most people knew, or would have wanted to know of.

'I thought he was reaching for his weapons,' Legolas lied boldly, some bitter irony resting in his eyes and the frigid tone of his voice, daring the aide to defy him.

'You should have known better, Legolas,' Mikael said under his breath, that the other elven soldiers may not hear him. Legolas was much loved and respected, and he dared not be the cause for the elven prince to loose face. But he's seen Legolas at his best and at his worst, lived with him through joy and tragedy, and watched as the light faded from his eyes and anger fill them. He will speak his mind, and no stature can stay his tongue, for whether or not the prince wished it, he grew beneath Mikael's watchful eyes and by the gods, he will not cease being watchful now.

'Danielli headed this tribe,' Mikael continued, 'His cooperation could have been useful to us, my lord. You know this.'  
'He was reaching for his weapons,' Legolas said again, edgily.

'It looked like a surrender to me,' Mikael insisted, 'But we will never know now, will we? Now that his blood is all over the ground?'

_All over your hands_…?

Legolas wiped at his weapons before sheathing them. Mikael watched, incredulous, when he noted that the younger elf was using the dead Easterling's cloaks as a rag!

And because the battles around them were winding down and the peculiar actions of the prince was coming to the attention of their surrounding soldiers, Mikael grabbed the Legolas by the arm, muttering, 'What is the matter with you?'

_You know very well what is the matter with me_, Legolas thought bitterly, but was of course, as always, loathe to say so. _You know very well_…

'It's _his_ blood,' Legolas reasoned coolly instead. Mikael opened his mouth to retort something, but another elf came up beside them.

'Sire,' said he, giving the prince a quick bow, 'We've captured Nicolo.'

'Alive?' Legolas asked reverently, suddenly breathless. Danielli was dead, and Nicolo was captured. Him, Danielli, and Nicolo…

_All three of us,_ Legolas thought fervently,_ all here…_

It was like a morbid fantasy.

_Revenge_…

_So close_.

To be continued…


	2. Where It Begins

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

" " "

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

" " "

" " "

Chapter Two: Where It Begins

" " "

Eastern Borders of Eryn Lasgalen

" " "

The allies of Elessar were closing in.

The Eastern edain tribes who made the fatal mistake of allying with the evil forces of Sauron were set to pay the lethal price at last. The fall of the Dark Lord after the War of the Ring sealed their fates as well.

From end to end of Middle-Earth, the armies of Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlorien, Rohan and Gondor formed an unprecedented column of soldiers marching East. Failure was an impossibility. The only question was how much success was going to cost, and it was a strict, hideously frugal barter with fate.

The warrior tribes of the East were scattered in defense of their lands. For the first time in their notorious histories of war-mongering, they were pressed into their borders and facing a definitive defeat. The armies of the West were flexing their newfound muscle, and ironically purchasing peace through the threat of a massive, destructive power.

The King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, Aragorn son of Arathorn, held no illusions about what the peace could cost. If he could attain it through the fear of his foes and their resulting surrender or agreement, then he shall see it done. It was the way of the world, perhaps, or maybe he was speaking in the only language the warrior tribes of the East could truly understand: force, and only through this could they gain respect.

This was a lesson that was learned only too harshly; before resorting to this decisive attack, an envoy of negotiators met their untimely demise at the hands of the Easterlings.

But Aragorn, although justly enraged, remained a man of honor and hope; all who surrendered would be treated fairly, and their lands preserved as belonging to their respective kingdoms. He was, after all, not a conqueror. He did not come to occupy and take what was theirs; he came ultimately to protect what was his.

More than the force of Elessar's massive armies, he was a sovereign made of sterner convictions. King Eomer of Rohan followed this light, as did the dwarf-lords. The mysterious elves held their own quiet reasons of serving in this war, which Aragorn hoped would be the last one ever in the history of the Earth. Either way, the glorious elven warriors stalwartly held the North, and chief amongst them was the lines commanded by Legolas Greenleaf.

The elf-prince was of noble descent and even nobler deeds. A prince of Eryn Lasgalen, and all at once lord of the elven colony in Ithilien, the sole elf in the Fellowship of the Ring… his friendship with Elessar, coupled with his convictions toward a better world seemed unquestionable reason enough for him to stand guard and fight so vigilantly against the long-foes of the West.

But a seasoned Easterling warrior, looking from the eyes of a sworn enemy, saw something else entirely in the flashing light of his keen, ice-blue eyes.

Price Nicolo of the Sang-age tribe was the heir to a medium-sized country and general of a persistent army that always held a considerable area of northwestern Rhovanion. This made them one of the twin forces the elven kingdom of Mirkwood had to weather for centuries, coupled with the southern assaults from Dol Guldur.

Between these men and King Thranduil of Mirkwood's elves, there was no love lost at all. This was a sentiment undoubtedly shared by the elven kingdom's golden prince.

" " "

It was nighttime, and raining too. Nicolo could hear the dull sound of the sky falling from his makeshift prison, shackled to the posts of a tent in the elven encampment. His army completely fell some hours ago with his capture and their consequent surrender. He was being keenly watched by a pair of ranking elven soldiers; they tended to look the same and when they switched around and changed shifts, he wasn't quite sure who stood where or who did what and if they were still the same ones from minutes or hours ago.

Nevertheless, he did recognize one famous face. This elf dismissed the other guards almost flippantly, so used was he to getting his way. The elf then walked toward him, strides calm and claiming the ground they trod on. This elf had a curious air about him, one that the other elves, for all of their inborn nobility, still did not have.

Nicolo heard it said that this air was made of the very rawness of his power; Legolas of Mirkwood had lethal eyes and an even more lethal pair of hands, as the legend goes. Some said it was his aristocracy, with this noble brow, this unquestionably tall stance. But when Legolas approached him and stopped a good, wide step away, Nicolo realized it was something else altogether. The restrained movements of the graceful elf held a potent anger too. He was not quite sure if the elf-prince looked upon all his other foes in this quietly threatening manner, but Nicolo felt that potent rage; it was filling the room, it was claiming his air, and he did not quite understand why such spite was directed _particularly_ at him.

"Prince Legolas," Nicolo greeted him evenly, "An honor."

The elf stared at him for a long, silent moment, before nodding in respectful return. The courtesy almost seemed as if it was being forcibly wrenched from him. It was like watching blood being squeezed from a rock.

The elf drew out keys from the folds of his robes. He removed the shackles from Nicolo's wrists, and stepped back to survey his intrigued quarry.

"Are you well?" Legolas asked him quietly.

"As well as can be expected," Nicolo replied, wringing his sore wrists and tilting his head in curiosity at the elven prince. "What is this game you are playing?"

Legolas refrained from replying and instead turned his back upon the man, boldly and deliberately, as if daring Nicolo to try something crazy. The Sang-age prince did not bother, and instead just waited as the elf prince murmured words in his own tongue to some unknown listener from outside. The words were elaborate in structure, but persistently melodious as they rolled from his tongue in an even tone that he soon knew to be some sort of command.

Another captive was led into the tent, just before his elven escorts left. Nicolo's eyes softened at the sight of his faithful valet and aide, a feisty young man named Adriano.

"My lord," Adriano greeted his prince, bowing low and tossing an angry glare at the impervious elven royal who stood with them.

"You may assist your lord," Legolas told Adriano evenly. When the defiant boy refused to move, he added, "Or of course, you can choose to simply stay still there and watch as he is slaughtered where he stands."

With a growl, Adriano walked to a corner of the tent and retrieved Nicolo's previously confiscated armor and weapons. He respectfully laid the considerable armload upon the tribe prince's feet, but picked up the chain mail and raised it up, as if to assist Nicolo into wearing them.

Nicolo raised an eyebrow at Legolas with inquiry and those keen, clear eyes met his gaze squarely.

"Are you well?" Legolas asked again, "Harmed or incapacitated in any way?"

Nicolo stared at him for a long moment, hazarding a guess. "I assume you want to know if I am fit for a good fight."

"I deserve my satisfaction," Legolas replied, "I will get it. But I will get it fairly. Are you well?"

Nicolo favored him with a thoughtful, sidelong glance as he let Adriano assist him into his warrior's garb. Legolas watched quietly, gaze unyielding as Nicolo was helped into his armor, the aide fastening the straps to his swords and shields and daggers. There was a pall about the room. Nicolo knew his death was near. Legolas knew this too. And both knew the other knew and so on in this ridiculous, confusing game that didn't quite end even when it never really began.

"I heard it said you were an honorable person," Nicolo said, when he was almost fully ready. He was missing his sword, which Adriano picked up last, and thoughtfully stared at. The boy's eyes raised up to his prince's, the orbs burning with his determination. Before Nicolo could stop him, Adriano removed the sword from it's sheathe and swung it toward the elven prince.

Legolas sidestepped and disarmed him easily; Adriano was much younger than he or Nicolo, and certainly much clumsier. He fell in an embarrassed and frustrated pile of robes to the ground. Breathing harshly, his clawed hands made for the elf's neck as he lunged forward, but the attack was once again quickly neutralized. Legolas all but simply stepped aside and tripped him. Clear eyes glinting, the elf towered over his fallen foe and placed the tip of the Sang-age sword threateningly against his young, trembling throat.

"Go ahead," Adriano spat, "Kill me."

He didn't. The elf prince lowered the sword and looked at Nicolo ironically, as if to ask, _What the hell is this,_ not even favoring the tempestuous boy with too much of his attention.

"A fair fighter to be sure, I see this too," Nicolo said wistfully, continuing his line of thought from earlier. The elf could have easily killed the boy, that was plain enough to see. But instead, Legolas sheathed the intricate sword as Nicolo discreetly waved at Adriano to hold his ground. The boy obeyed him unquestioningly.

The Sang-age prince's sword was beauty and death meshed in ridiculous harmony. It had an indulgently carved ivory handle. Heavy and impractical, yes, but it was carefully aged by blood, and honor, and history. Legolas offered it to Nicolo with both palms up, reverently, respectfully, even as his eyes burned with his anger and restlessness. He was inextricably a warrior still, one of honor, and for this revenge to feel as right as he deems his cause to be, things had to be done the right way.

"But you look at me with such spite," Nicolo observed, "Not unlike the inherited anger of our kin, for yours and mine have crossed blades for as long as we care to recall. Not unlike it at all, yes, but that, sharpened by something else altogether. I've wronged you not as a people, but you as a person, an individual. Now I think I know why." He paused, watching Legolas' face.

The elven prince looked back at him steely.

"Perhaps," Nicolo looked at him more closely, "Perhaps a woman… one you had loved."

"You will not be able to recall her from the multitude of defenseless faces you've slaughtered," Legolas said evenly, unwilling for this knowledge to be used against him, "But I guarantee you will not forget _me_, and what her killing is going to cost you. I will kill you tonight. But I will get _all_ my satisfaction when all that is you and yours burns to the ground."

"Hm," Nicolo murmured thoughtfully, "Well. Just so. But let me teach you one final thing, dear prince. All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war. All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance."

" " "

That night, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen cleanly divested Prince Nicolo of the Sang-age tribe of his life.

The same sword Legolas handed the enemy warrior-prince before the duel was now back in his hands, wrapped in the dead man's bloodied cloak, an already scarlet one to begin with, emblazoned with the symbols of his Royal House. The elf prince secured it upon his horse's pack, and he rode from north to south bearing his prize, flanked by the loyal Mikael and a loose troupe of four escorts bearing their own burden; a defiant young prisoner and witness by the name of Adriano.

The horse rode as frustrated as his restless master, hooves tearing across the ground. But it did not drown the sobs of an enraged Adriano, and both things did not drown the elven prince's tumultuous thoughts and his pounding, pounding heart.

_ All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war. All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance._

It sounded like a curse, especially from the mouth of a dead man. Or perhaps it was only, and very simply an indisputable truth. Either way, he did not feel as if he ended something this night—certainly not the pain of her death, certainly not his anger, certainly not his restless hunger. Nothing ended. But something began.

_All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance._

To be continued…


	3. Those Who Do Not Give Mercy

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

****

****

**Some responses to questions and reviews**:

**Child of the Golden Leaves**: I love your perceptive questions. For those who are not Child of the Golden Leaves but are reading this anyway, the questions were why legolas is so cold, if it's because of the death of his betrothed or if he's always been this way. These are precisely the questions I want you to be asking yourselves along the story: Do I know him, what is this side of him, etc. Once more employing my favorite technique of the message being the medium, the same doubt the readers will have of exactly if they ever knew a character is what the other characters will be feeling of Legolas. If you want a taste, this is a snippet of Chapter Six: Love More than Hate, a scene between Eomer and Legolas:

" " "

"I've been…" Eomer began haltingly as he and Legolas warily walked around each other, "I've been confused by you since your return… I stepped in here and realized you've become someone I do not quite… _recognize_."

"Or perhaps," Legolas retorted irritably, "One you never truly knew."

The heated vibe struck a chord in Eomer, whose always felt a rather deep comradeship with the elf.

"Do you truly believe that?" Eomer asked him quietly.

The frustrated elf decided not to reply. Uncertain what else to do, he lunged at Eomer in a frontal attack that served only to distract; turning just-so, he swung his blade instead toward the King of Rohan's side.

But they've not fought together a multitude of times before without the human King knowing a thing or two about the elf's skills. He deflected the attack cleanly, and swung his own sword upon the elf's body.

Legolas caught the strike with his knife, and for a long moment they pressed against each other stubbornly.

"Lay it down, Legolas," Eomer muttered.

"Move out of the way, Eomer," Legolas retorted.

" " "

**Eathlin**** and Elessar lover**: oh, dear thank you so so much for the trust. This is new ground for me in LOTR too so I'm being very cautious. I hope I take you on an okay ride haha.

**Dragonfly**: I'm a bit of a novice in the slash department too, so you shouldn't expect a very extreme departure from my usual depiction of the characters or too harsh a dive into the more 'physical' elements of a slash fic. As a matter of fact, I do not even plan on any explicitly stated admissions of love or even any touching. I want everything relating to slash to be understated. As a matter of fact, you may have noticed that Legolas' devotion at this point is his love for a woman. The way I see it, the body is almost unnecessary because the brand of love that I'm depicting transcends it; you love a trait, and incidentally this trait rests in a body that can be either that of a man's or a woman's. I won't take you down a dark, dark road that is too far from what I usually write. I was looking for a creative challenge, not an absolute change :)

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and a shout out especially to those who took the time to review! I'm always going out on a limb for myself creatively somewhere (slash, this time, is just one more experiment in a lengthy list of them), so the feedback is really appreciated. I know how pressed for time we all are so thank you so so much.**

**" " "**

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

" " "

CHAPTER THREE: Those Who Do Not Give Mercy

" " "

The Rohan Front

" " "

_They would not be able to recognize defeat even if it came in the form of a warg and it bit off their noses…_

The war was running too pointlessly long, if indeed it was a war at all. The field was hideously and conspicuously uneven, with the scales long-tipped in favor of Elessar and his allies.

_ Yet here we all are…_

One of the greatest forces in all of Middle-Earth stood a field of battle across from the remnants of a fading army.

The more fortunate side held King Eomer of Rohan and his men. He spearheaded column after column of armored soldiers that vigilantly held sturdy, disciplined lines of archers, foot soldiers and riders upon valiant horses with gleaming armored flanks.

The other side, the far more unfortunate side, held faceless, fate-sealed, walking corpses… otherwise known as yet another one of Rhovanion's scattered _edain_ tribes, some of the Easterlings who have allied themselves with the evil Sauron and were now also sharing in his downfall.

Their lines had yawning gaps, their clothes and armor was torn, bloodied and tattered. They dragged their feet, as if they carried heavy burdens although… this warrior tribe's burden was not so much the heavy weapons they've been accustomed to since birth, but the knowing defeat they carried in their hearts.

"A rider comes, sire," Eomer was informed, and he looked away from the front to see his soldiers part for the new arrival. He smiled in pleasure at the sight of an old ally and friend.

"Legolas," he greeted, sparing the elf a slight bow. Legolas' lips quirked in a hesitant return of the affectionate greeting, but otherwise remained impassive as he bowed to the King of Rohan in return, a formal courtesy he returned more easily.

"All is well in Mirkwood?" Eomer inquired.

"Of course," Legolas replied as he dismounted his horse and patted it reassuringly. Eomer recognized the glorious beast as the very horse he had given Legolas that first time they met.

"I would not have left otherwise," Legolas continued, "I was just passing through to see how your front fares. I am on my way to Ithilien. I left my elves there in command of Prince Faramir as I looked to the affairs of the north. All seems well here, I believe I can leave soon."

"Aye," Eomer agreed, wincing, "I just wish they would simply surrender. They are no match for us. All this is so _unnecessary_. We do not want them all killed, we simply want them to be cooperative, to neutralize their threat to us."

Legolas glanced at the fragile lines the Easterlings held.

"At this point," said Eomer, "I've ordered my men to disarm and disable them, _never_ to kill unless absolutely necessary. It is much harder… and more of our men are lost this way, but one could hardly look at our foes and decide otherwise."

_It is admittedly pitiful_, Legolas conceded, although the tiniest of compassion he could feel for his foes only succeeded in refueling his anger against them.

_Those who do not give mercy do not deserve to be given it…_

"What word from the northern front?" Eomer asked Legolas. The elf seemed a bit preoccupied, so Eomer expounded, "Does Danielli and Nicolo still fight?"

He was referring to the pair of infamous Easterling royals and warlords. Intelligence information gleaned from the East was sparse at best, but Danielli and Nicolo were two of their more well-known warriors. Friends and allies, the pair was often seen together, marauding across their lands. Their alliance was formally sealed by Danielli's marriage to Nicolo's sister, but it was a bond that was forged more strongly by the battles they withstood together, and a rumored, shared passion for blood as sport.

Last year, Danielli became the King of his tribe after his father's death at the battle of the Black Gate. Nicolo, whose father was the King of a neighboring tribe called the Sang-age, became Danielli's general since his own father was still alive and did not expressly need his assistance in the affairs of war.

"They were killed in battle," Legolas informed him, "I've come here to bear this news as well. Our northern front successfully broke their lines."

Eomer's brows rose. "Truly?"

"I have proof," Legolas said, "I bear it on my person."

Eomer looked away from Legolas, out across the field of battle and toward the weakening Eastrling lines. "That will be most useful to us. Do you know that the tribe we are presently fighting is that of the Sang-age?"

"Nicolo's father," Legolas concluded edgily.

"Yes," Eomer replied, wistfully. "We are at the very precipice before a battle. But perhaps… Hm. Would you stay awhile, master elf?"

"If you bid me do so," Legolas answered, watching the man carefully, wondering what it was he could be thinking.

"Good," Eomer nodded, exhaling as a slight smile touched his lips, "Good. I do bid you do so, my lord. Perhaps there is a better way than this…"

" " "

"Hold the line," Eomer ordered his commander, ushering his horse forward, flanked by Legolas and the standard-bearers of the Rohiriim and the Eryn Lasgalen elves. The group of four looked proud and regal as they rode across the field, stopping just short of its center.

From the Easterlings' end, its leader Nathaniel and another man who carried the colors of their tribe rode forward as well, and stopped before the group.

The opposing warriors held a potent silence as they beheld each other. The leader of this band of Easterlings was an aging King, perhaps fifty or sixty years of age. His skin was olive, and the hair that peered from his helmet was a curling black, the same color of his keen eyes.

_Just like the eyes of his son_, Legolas deduced, recalling Nicolo's determined face and immediately recognizing the features he shared with his father.

King Nathaniel's cheeks were stained with blood and grime, and curiously, such things seemed to lend him more of an artless warrior's beauty and dignity, rather than dirt and defeat.

Eomer recognized him as an honorable foe with a respectful nod. "Your northern ally is dead," he said flatly, courteously handing the Easterling warrior the cloak and weapons of Danielli, which Legolas brought with him.

"These were retrieved from his body," Eomer informed Nathaniel, as he nodded for Legolas to give the man another set of cloak and weapons. The elf did so with some noted stiffness; he was, after all, handing a _father_ information that his _son_ was dead…

_Spawn of the devil though the son may be…_

"Just as these implements were retrieved from his general," Eomer continued, "_Your son_, Nicolo. They fought bravely and nobly, but now they are dead. The soldiers that have been captured from the northern front are being kept as prisoners of war. They are being treated fairly, are well-fed, well-sheltered, and the injured are being cared for. This is a courtesy I guarantee will be extended to you and your men should you choose to surrender to us.

"Your lines are thinning," Eomer said, without malice, without threat, and the barest truthfulness of his pained words probably held more power than any threat, "And no reinforcements are forthcoming. Surrender will be most wise."

"I will give it some thought," Nathaniel replied tersely, and all credit was due him for his admirable restraint, "Although we were never one to simply give up."

"I share the sentiment," Legolas piped in coolly, to Eomer's annoyance, "I would rather see this battle to a definitive end myself."

The King's brows rose as he beheld the cold elf carefully.

"But naturally," Eomer cut in, "We are duty-bound to extend this option to you."

"I know," Nathaniel said, "You shall have your reply by day's end. Perhaps this battle will end by tonight. Perhaps our swords will cross upon the next rising of the sun. We shall see. Do you find this agreeable?"

"Yes," Eomer replied, tightening his grip upon the reins of his horse, "We will wait."

" " "

Legolas commanded the watch of the night, and stood beside a pensive Mikael as they watched the Easterling camp from across the battlefield. Specks of light danced in the near distance as the soldiers across the field moved about.

'They will surrender,' Mikael commented, 'I do not believe Nathaniel is a fool.'

Legolas said nothing to this prediction.

'And what will you do then, my prince?' Mikael pressed him.

'You are my minder,' Legolas retorted, 'Not my conscience. Your job is to keep me alive, not to tell me how to live.'

Mikael bit his tongue; the boy was understandably troubled, has been since he returned to Mirkwood after the War of the Ring only to be informed of his betrothed's death. Grief so strong was almost always accompanied by a heart so broken it longed desperately to still. But Legolas' was a pain fueled by his anger. Undoubtedly, Mikael's seen that frustration help grow an elven colony in Ithilien, helped make Eryn Lasgalen a rightful heir as her Prince grew in strength and warrior's might. The Prince was fed by that anger, that hungry restlessness. And while Mikael was grateful for the strength it lent his strong-willed charge, that brand of rage courted its own brand of troubles as well.

'I long to take your fury from you,' Mikael murmured, 'But I know it keeps you alive.'

Legolas opened his mouth, eager to retort something scathing. But Mikael beat him to the line, nodding toward the near distance and saying, 'A rider comes from across the way, my lord. He bears a white flag in surrender.'

'Strike him down,' Legolas commanded coolly.

Mikael called the bluff and unquestionably raised his bow and aimed his arrow for a lethal strike. Sighing almost inaudibly, Legolas pressed a hand upon Mikael's arm to stay his aim. The elder elf counted on it, but there was no triumph to him, for the shoulders of the elven prince slumped as if something significant was taken from him, in this tiny moment, in that he was forced to stay the things he's longed for so desperately for so long.

They let the rider approach, and walked toward him as he cautiously dismounted from his horse.

"My lord," the Easterling messenger greeted Legolas with a quick nod. He offered the elf the sword of Nathaniel.

He offered the elf the surrender of the Sang-age.

He offered Legolas his peace.

The elf warrior did not want it. But he grit his teeth and accepted, at least, for now.

To be continued…


	4. To the Victor Go the Spoils

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

**" " "**

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

" " "

Chapter Four: To the Victor Go the Spoils

" " "

The Rohan Front

" " "

Nathaniel was naturally treated as an honored guest, rather than a prisoner. After the acceptance of the surrender, the Eastern and Western lines were arranged into a wary but well-held armistice in the grounds outside.

When all seemed to settle down at last, Nathaniel and Eomer sat across from each other over negotiations and a meal inside the King of Rohan's tent. With them were Legolas, Mikael and Nathaniel's personal guard.

Nathaniel's eyes discreetly strayed to a corner of the tent, where his sword rested atop a pile of silks.

"You will get it back," Eomer said suddenly, ever-perceptive.

"Gracious of you," Nathaniel murmured, watching the gruff King of Rohan as he finished off the last of his meal. Eomer was much younger than he, but held his stalwart warrior's respect. The young King of Rohan was a worthy foe. But now that peace was at hand… they weren't quite sure of what to do with each other, always more of warriors than diplomats, having lived in a time of war.

"A fine weapon," Eomer commented.

_Safe topic_, Legolas thought wryly, not quite sure of what he wanted, or what he expected.

"The artwork is intricate but mostly unnecessary," Eomer continued, "However I must also say that it hampers the hold very little. Respect to your smiths."

"They've carried the secrets of their trade for as long as any of our people can recall," Nathaniel said, just as relieved to fall into these words that were not so complicated. "Perhaps… perhaps in better times… a gift from my House to yours. We shall see. Have you a passion for such things?"

"Ours too is a kingdom of warriors," Eomer said, "I find it hard to rely upon things that I do not admire. A sword saves your life and that of those you love. It commands care, and respect, and the best kinds deserve adoration too."

Nathaniel favored him with a sidelong glance. "That piece in particular carries a grand history with it. My sword… it's carried my people through countless battles. It was my father's when he was king. And his father's too, and so on. What history does your weapon carry?"

"My own," Eomer said proudly, and though Nathaniel did not quite know the story behind that, the light in the young King's eyes was enough to tell him that there was more than reason enough to feel so fierce a pride for such a thing. The man before him was indeed great by his past deeds, and guaranteed a life ahead that minstrels would one day sing praises to.

From the folds of his robes, Nathaniel drew out the cloak and sword of his slain ally Danielli. With some reserve, he drew out those that his dead son owned as well. He respectfully offered them to Eomer.

"To the victor go the spoils," Nathaniel said, "This is tradition too. You've slain Danielli and Nicolo. Things that were theirs are now yours."

"Legolas is your victor," Eomer said to the King of the Sang-age, motioning for the quiet elf.

"In both cases?" Nathaniel asked the elven prince.

"Yes," Legolas replied after a moment of thought.

Nathaniel's eyes lit up. "Ah, Legolas of Mirkwood. Yes. I wondered when Danielli and Nicolo would meet their match." He offered the swords to Legolas, who stared at them for a moment, before accepting them with his pale, graceful hands closing around the scarlet fabric wound about the weapons.

"I hope you are not yet wed," Nathaniel added, "For I know some countries do not encourage men to have more than one wife."

Legolas' head shot up as he blinked at the Easterling in genuine confusion, not to mention _mounting dread_.

"Danielli had a sizeable estate in the East," Nathaniel informed him, "A minor kingdom. And he is survived by his wife, who is my most beautiful daughter, and their son. Nicolo himself was never married, but he does own land as well. All these are now yours to take.

"According to tradition," said Nathaniel, "You may kill Danielli's son if you desire, for he was the slain man's heir and therefore could one day amass forces to depose you and avenge his father. Naturally you are not expected to raise him according to the royal life he was born to, unless you choose to. You may dispose of him as you will."

"I do not want any of these," Legolas said flatly, and Eomer was staring at him, knowing from the stricken look on the elf's face that it was a rather _vast_ and _monumental_ understatement.

"But you must take them," Nathaniel insisted, "By these traditions is order in our country upheld. For such structures to crumble would be disastrous, for it could set a precedent that could permanently damage our way of life. If you do not take the properties of Danielli and Nathaniel, you could spark civil unrest if various families fight and war to stake their claim in these unmarked territories. And we are speaking of the best territories in the land, for they were our best warriors.

"And besides," Nathaniel continued, "if a peace treaty, or an alliance is to be set into motion, it also requires the bind of marriage. All my daughters are wed, yes, but now Nadina is widowed and yours to take. Though I am saddened by Danielli's death, it has purchased for us an opportunity wherein the pieces fit."

"This is preposterous," Legolas seethed.

"We've long lived thus," Nathaniel said tersely, "It is not your place to declare our ways as ridiculous."

Legolas stared at him for a long moment. _Nicolo's__ sister_, his mind raced, _my wife_… he could not quite put the two things together. It was like defiling the grave of _Lilian_…

Surprising all who were there, the elf chuckled mirthlessly. He reached for his chalice and took a disarming gulp of deep red wine.

_Eomer's__ going to kill me_, he decided, even as he opened his mouth to speak.

"You may find it in good taste, sir," said Legolas stonily, "To give to your son's murderer you daughter in marriage. But then again, that is what makes you a barbarian and I… something else."  
A deadly silence filled the room. They could hear the sounds of clanking armor outside, soldiers talking, fires cackling, quiet horse hooves. Eomer clung to these remnants of the outside word like a man on a log in the middle of the sea. He wound his consciousness and all of his attention about these reminders of a life that lay beyond the pall of the room he was very _miserably _in.

"You may retire to your quarters for the night, my lord," Eomer said to Nathaniel, his voice edgy with anger that was most certainly _not_ directed at the King of the Sang-age tribe. "You are free to move about the camp as you desire, but of course with due caution. We shall continue the negotiations upon the arrival of Elessar. I will send a rider for him at first light."

Nathaniel's jaws were set, but he nodded quickly and excused himself. Eomer waited a lengthy silence after the departure of the Sang-age group before he turned to Legolas incredulously.

"Are you addled?" were the first things that erupted from Eomer's mouth.

_A just question my liege_, the memory sprung from Legiolas' mind easily, remembering that first forage into the Golden Hall and the last time he tried to defy a King of Rohan.

_I'm not sure_, Legolas decided. He's crossed Eomer's King's eyes but once before. It was a steady, angry gaze that was noble to the core of his bones, even as he was just a soldier then. Allies during the rest of the war, Eomer's angry gaze was one he did not think he had to face ever again.

Legolas turned to Mikael, and murmured to him in their native tongue. 'You are excused. Set Adriano free and leave him to his master.'

'Are you addled?' Mikael asked as well, but left and did as he was told when Legolas looked at him sardonically and refused to reply.

"I merely expressed an honest opinion," Legolas said to Eomer.

"I know," Eomer retorted, "That's the problem."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Legolas reckoned that Eomer knew far less about what to do with _him_ than the King of Rohan did about what to do with Nathaniel.

"The peace is at hand," Eomer said, "Why must you try to make an already tenuous situation more difficult?"

Legolas made a mockery of genuinely pondering the question. "I'm not certain."

"That's not good enough," Eomer snapped.

"Do not use that tone with me," Legolas said evenly, trying to reign in his own royal temper, "I am not some mindless minion of yours."

"No, you are simply being _mindless_," Eomer retorted, "I am not speaking to you as a King to a subordinate. I am speaking to you as a man who speaks to one who has erred in a most miserable and unquestionable manner! Not to mention _petty_. Do you know what is at stake here? How many we have lost in the battles with the Easterlings? How many we can save through a treaty?"

"I cannot forget their errs as easily as you apparently can," Legolas retorted.

"I do not forget," said Eomer, "I am simply being practical. We _can_ end bloodshed, Legolas. While I share your thirst for justice, and your disdain for their past acts, wars must end. If I can give my people peace and safety by giving them _their_ peace and safety, so be it. It is the way of things, much as we may desire otherwise."  
Legolas stared at the King of Rohan. He cannot argue with practicality; that was cold, brutal fact, and there never was anything very practical about revenge.

To be continued…


	5. No Honor of Mine

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

" " "

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

" " "

Chapter Five: No Honor of Mine

" " "

The Rohan Front

" " "

Even before Legolas stepped inside his tent to retire for the evening, he knew there was someone within awaiting him. Carefully, he closed the flap of the tent behind him as he spoke into the dimness of the glaringly _un-empty_ room.

"This is the quarters of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, my lord," said Legolas, "I'm afraid you've strayed."

The intruder seemed to pause, and ponder this for a moment before he revealed himself indeed as who Legolas thought he was: Nathaniel.

"My son is truly dead?" he asked.

"Yes," Legolas replied.

"With honor, in a battle?" Nathaniel inquired.

"You can say so," Legolas managed after a thoughtful pause.

From deeper into the tent, Nathaniel lit an oil lamp and the two foes faced each other beneath its quiet yellow light.

"Is this all you came here to do?" Legolas asked coolly, as he removed his cloak and settled it upon the back of a chair, "To ask me useless questions?"

"No," Nathaniel admitted.

"I am not surprised," Legolas said as he watched Nathaniel with some interest, just before revealing the sword of the slain Sang-age prince from the folds of his robes. Nathaniel stared at the intricate weapon—his dead heir's weaponin Legolas' hands hungrily.

"I am tempted to use this on you," Legolas admitted, studying the blade with some interest, "There's almost something deliciously forbidden and irreverent about doing such a thing. A son's sword into his father's breast." But contrary to what he seemed to be saying, he tossed the sword to the King, who caught it cleanly.

"Your son's sword," Legolas said with a frown, so coolly, so frigidly, that it made the hair at the back of the King's neck stand on end, "is the very _bane_ of my existence. I do not want it, just as I want nothing of his. Or that fiend Danielli's. I want _absolutely _nothing of the Easterlings. I do not use this blade upon you out of respect. I simply do not _want _it."

"I on the other hand," said Nathaniel gravely as he removed the sword from it's sheathe, "_will_ indeed be using this on you."

"Whatever happened to that adage of yours?" Legolas asked him sardonically, "Tradition? Order? We're about to have an alliance, you and I. All that was your son's and all that was your ally's is mine now. Their lands and properties. Not to mention _your_ daughter, _your_ grandson. They are mine."

"Ah," Nathaniel said as he stepped forward with his weapon raised, "That's why I am here. If I killed you, _all_ that is yours will be mine, eh?"

He swung at Legolas, who twisted on his heels in avoidance as he drew his pair of white swords and in turn swung upon Nathaniel's back. The man turned just in time to catch the blades with his sword in an almost-soundless _clink_!

Their assaults were quiet—they had to be, in this secret fight. The effect was a sound that was more akin to tinkering glasses or breaking ice than clashing swords.

They pushed away from each other.

"That's a rather _convenient_ law," Legolas said wryly, as they walked around each other in the narrow space. Legolas randomly kicked silks and pillows out of his way.

"I heard it said you were a good warrior," Nathaniel scoffed, "With respect, and conviction. I have spoken with Adriano. He told me of your duel with my son, _after_ he willingly surrendered. He also told me of what you've done to Danielli. I am therefore inclined to believe that you are not a good warrior at all. It is no honor of mine to cross blades with a foe like you."

"Nevertheless, here we are," Legolas commented calmly, although his heart was pricked. When did _his_ actions become a subject of judgment? _He_ was the one punishing _them_. It was _they_ who wronged him. What angered him the most was that for some ridiculous reason, the man's opinion actually _mattered _to him.

"I did say I wanted the battle to end definitively, did I not?" Legolas asked, "I was envisioning the demise of your troublesome kind."

Nathaniel swung at the elf and Legolas ducked and retaliated, the edges of his knives catching the fabric of the Easterling's tunic as he jumped away.

Legolas did not wait for Nathaniel to recover from the attack, pulling his arm back and then pushing it forward, his sword seemingly a part of his body, an extension of his hand. Nathaniel deflected the precise aim with a jerk of his own sword, but was otherwise unable to stop the force that was so lethally strong that his weapon clattered to the ground with the momentum of the warrior elf's attack.

Hurriedly, Nathaniel stooped for the daggers strapped to his boots. His mind was racing as he struggled for control. A seasoned warrior he was, yes, but he was hardly as young and sprightly as he used to be. Danielli and Nicolo were much better fighters than himself, and _they_ were slain by this elf. He likely did not stand a chance here, but he was never one to admit defeat. Besides, the elf seemed to be taking no prisoners, and he was therefore left with little or no choice at all but to keep fighting.

The dagger on his right boot freed first, and Legolas was not going to give him time to free the other. Nathaniel tossed the freed dagger toward the elf's head, and the warrior gracefully and simply just _leaned_ away. Though the elf was quick to avoid _that_ brand of a rather gruesome death, Nathaniel used the time wisely and freed his other dagger.

"One more weapon you've lost," Legolas told him mildly, practically daring Nathaniel to attack him when he made a show of looking away from the Easterling and out toward the ripped tent, where the first tossed dagger made its exit. "I hope you did not accidentally hit anyone outside."

Nathaniel ignored him, instead raising the new dagger up in a defensive stance, while his other hand motioned for Legolas to come forward. It might have been a dare, a challenge. But as the elf loomed closer, Nathaniel realized it was also most likely a death-wish under the guise of a final gust of bravado.

"They would have noticed that," Legolas said with a wince, knowing that if he wanted to finish off Nicolo's father, he had to do so quickly, before anyone came inside to disrupt their duel.

"Eomer will not be overly pleased with me," Legolas said wistfully, "but I suppose I could always say you invaded my quarters and tried to attack me." He blinked. "Which is also incidentally the truth. Mostly."

Nathaniel watched him approach, noting the rather keenly glinting spite in the elf's already icy eyes. Eyes that held no fear, no reservation, no disguise… of a feeling that was so strong it stifled the room.

"Why do you hate us so?" Nathaniel asked him.

"I hate the very ground your son walked upon," Legolas answered him coolly, pausing for awhile and looking at the Sang-age King with some dismay. "Far more those who sired him and set him upon this Earth. Far more those who loved him. Far more those who share his _blood_."

They looked at each other squarely. Legolas' mind raced.

_Kill him now_.

And yet his feet were frozen. Suddenly the Easterling looked old, almost harmless. Yes, there was angry, defiant fear in the aging warrior's eyes, but that dagger looked altogether too small, especially against Legolas' own pair of long white knives. The Easterling king was staring death in the eye, and he, immortal, was yet to break a sweat.

_He does not deserve your pity_.

_He deserves your justice and your cold, cold heart_.

Legolas surged forward with an angry cry— he was just so helplessly and blindly angry at his foe, angry at himself, angry at the blasted fates that conspired for him to want things that were so hideously forbidden but also somehow right and painfully persistent, angry at opportunities that presented themselves for him to act upon these desires—

He blinked at the sharp sound of a clang and at the sudden realization that his weapon did not connect with flesh and blood. Breathlessly, he raised his eyes from the point of the crossed blades and met the turbulent gaze of an old friend.

"Move out of the way, Eomer," he said to the determined new arrival, knowing that for the second time that night, he would be going up against the iron will of the King of Rohan.

_Long night_…

"Legolas—" Eomer said haltingly, rather unsure of what to say, especially when the elf pressed down upon his blades and forced their knives to disengage.

"Out of the way!" Legolas commanded, sidestepping Eomer and moving in for the kill. The stunned Easterling looked almost as distraught as the King of Rohan, who swiftly moved back in place to defend Nathaniel.

"Cease this, Legolas, please," Eomer grunted at the strain, the force of Legolas' attack pressing down against his sword. He pushed his elven ally away, and Legolas jumped back, glaring at him hotly.

"In case you missed it," the elf snapped, "_He_ came into my quarters searching precisely for this. I do not intend to disappoint. What he began, he shall finish."

"We need him," Eomer said, "I know not what this is about to you and I will not pretend to know. What I am certain of is that a peace treaty with the King of an Eastern tribe, particularly one as widely connected as the Sang-age can set forth a precedent for other tribes to follow. This is the first step to a lasting peace. You know it."

"You strike a bargain with the devil," Legolas seethed, walking around Eomer, "My friend," he said gravely, the endearment sounding more of a warning of what would be forsaken for his desires, rather than a pleasantry, "I would appreciate it if you stepped out of my way."

"Stand down, Legolas," Eomer said edgily, raising his sword up in defense. From behind him, he could hear Nathaniel scurrying to recover his fallen blade. "Stay still, Nathaniel," Eomer muttered, knowing that the sudden movements of the Easterling was making the elf-warrior's eyes dart left and right in preparation for an assault. Eomer knew what that meant…

In a flurry of movement, the elf sheathed his pair of white knives behind him and was quickly armed and aiming with his bow toward Nathaniel at the return. The shaft was released, and Eomer deflected it with a wave of his sword. The arrow clattered to the ground uselessly.

"Cease this madness," Eomer warned the elf, his tone regal and commanding, even as the depths of his eyes burned into those of his ally's, searchingly.

_Easier said than done_, Legolas thought darkly.

Legolas breathed, and abandoned his bow and arrow, letting them fall to the ground.

"Thank the gods…" the familiar voice of Eomer's personal guard cut through the palpable silence of the tent and for the first time, Legolas noticed he was there, beside a pensive Mikael. The soldier's voice hovered over the room and then drifted, when he realized that he was the only one voicing what was soon turning out to be extremely premature relief.

Slowly, Legolas raised his arms toward the white knives he previously sheathed.

Nathaniel made a step forward, attempting to pass his defender Eomer, embarrassed that someone was fighting in his stead. But Mikael moved toward him and pressed an insistent hand upon his shoulder.

"No man shall fight a battle that is mine," Nathaniel said.

"It is no battle," Mikael said tersely, his eyes drifting to the two former allies who were facing each other stonily, "They are just going to… talk."

_Let the Legolas release his steam_, Mikael thought as he watched, _He will not harm Eomer, but he sorely needs this_…

"Come," Mikael said coolly to the confused pair of Nathaniel and Eomer's aisde, "Let us have tea."

Nathaniel hesitated, but Mikael's grip on his shoulder tightened. He will not be defied. Grudgingly, Nathaniel let himself be led away, out the tent.

Legolas watched them leave, his blue eyes wide as it dawned on him that the control of the situation was being wrested from him, his quarry escaping. He stepped in the direction of the tent's flaps to follow, but Eomer matched his move easily and blocked his way.

"Do you think I will stay my hand for you?" Legolas snapped at him, obviously and understandably frustrated.

"Yes," Eomer said boldly, much to the elf's vexation.

To be continued…

**Some Thanks****…**

**Shout out to all who read and especially all who reviewed!** This isn't my most popular fic, but I really felt, creatively, that I had to stretch out of my comfort zone and try this out so MASSIVE MASSIVE thanks for your support and your attention :) This fic likely would have died without your readership :) Thank you especially also to those readers who trust me enough to take the experimental leap with me :)

**Some responses**…

**To Zerah**: the pairing is actually a very standard one, which will make itself known in the latter parts of the story. It's A/L. But you're right, I love writing Eomer and Legolas together :)

**To Rougish Smile**: sorry, I don't know Laurel Hamilton. Wow, of all the names put together we thought of the same? I guess I just thought 'whatever sounds nice' haha.

**Oh and Chapter Six, "Love More than Hate" will be posted soon, and will be featuring the rest of the duel. In terms of the work, though, I'm already writing Chapter Ten. I pace my posts so you guys wouldn't have to wait an eternity for a post I've yet to write, so I like pacing them. Anyway, there. And if you guys liked my previous fic "For Every Evil," I've also been dabbling with writing it :) So, there. Keep the reviews coming if you can and 'til the next post!**


	6. Love More Than Hate

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

* * *

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha.**

* * *

**

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

Chapter Six: Love More Than Hate

The Rohan Front

* * *

"I've been…" Eomer began haltingly as he and Legolas warily walked around each other, "I've been confused by you since your return… I stepped in here and realized you've become someone I do not quite… _recognize_."

"Or perhaps," Legolas retorted irritably, "One you never truly knew."

The heated vibe struck a chord in Eomer, whose always felt a rather deep comradeship with the elf.

"Do you truly believe that?" Eomer asked him quietly.

The frustrated elf decided not to reply. Uncertain what else to do, he lunged at Eomer in a frontal attack that served only to distract; turning just-so, he swung his blade instead toward the King of Rohan's side.

But they've not fought together a multitude of times before without the human King knowing a thing or two about the elf's skills and tactics. He deflected the attack cleanly, and swung his own sword toward the elf's body.

Legolas caught the strike with his knife, and for a long moment they pressed against each other stubbornly.

"Lay it down, Legolas," Eomer muttered.

"Move out of the way, Eomer," Legolas retorted.

They pushed away from each other.

"You are knowingly threatening this peace for which we've labored so long," Eomer told him plaintively.

"There are many forms of peace," Legolas said coolly, "I work for one that does not involve an agreement with a group of heartless barbarians."  
"For all your disdain of them," Eomer pointed out, "You are certainly acting like one."

A burst of anger spurted from the elf's eyes at the comparison. With a cry of anger, he swung at Eomer again. The knife on his left hand arced wide, just as he pressed the knife on his right hand forward.

Eomer used his sword to defend himself from the first move, and then jumped away to avoid the second. He barely allowed himself a breath before he ducked low and swung his sword against Legolas' legs. The edge of the blade caught the cloth of the elf's clothes, brushing the skin beneath such that a line of blood stained the torn cloth. It was more of a warning, or perhaps a dare, rather than a serious strike.

_First blood_, Eomer noted, somehow undeniably… _proud _of such an achievement. The elf was always a riveting fighter to behold. To watch him cross blades with a foe was both a daunting horror and a persistent privilege (_i.e._, _first, in because it was a stunningly beautiful dance and secondly, because they were fortunately on the same side_). He never thought he would actually one day _fight_ the elf.

Breathing heavily more out of spite than exhaustion, Legolas beheld Eomer with a hateful glare.

"What is this about, my friend?" Eomer asked him, gentleness and worry seeking to escape his defenses. He was confused at the elf's actions and perhaps angrier than he cared to admit over the brashness of Legolas. "When did our eyes look toward different horizons?"

_When did the things we want diverge_?

_Why do you suddenly raise your sword against me_?

_Why do you make me choose between you and my duties_?

"My eyes have always looked toward the destruction of our foes," Legolas retorted, "It is you who seek to suddenly lay down our arms and… and _consort_ with our enemies."

"The world must one day cease from destroying itself from within," Eomer said evenly, "Wars must end. I can no longer fight a face that is remarkably similar to mine."

"They've fought and slain your kin for years and years," Legolas pointed out.

"And _we_ have fought and slain theirs," said Eomer, "Past is past, Legolas. I look to the future. Restless ghosts will one day tire and sleep. It is my people and one day my children, whom I wish to spare from joining them. Can we all not simply seek to enjoy a life that is short enough without wars and killing?"

"Then you abandon _my_ cause," said Legolas, "_My_ life is not so short. _My_ anger is not so easily dismissed and _my_ loss not as easily forgotten. What was stolen from me I cannot reclaim… I can only calm with their understanding of what they cost me. They will _pay_ threefold."

"What was stolen, Legolas?" Eomer asked him achingly, "Perhaps _I_ will understand. Perhaps I can help."

"I do not wish to waste my time," Legolas barked, "For you will only deem it trivial and insane and even if you thought otherwise I know for a certainty that none of it will ultimately change your mind. And so. Once again, I will ask you to step down."

"No," Eomer said with finality.

"Very well," Legolas tensed, preparing for another attack. In a flash of movement, he kicked at the silks that littered the indulgent space, the shimmering fabric creating waves between the two warriors as it moved with the force and for a moment seemed to repel the call of the fall to the ground.

Eomer's sword tore through the fabric, only to touch bare air; the elf shifted and moved, appearing behind the King of Rohan. Instinctively, Eomer deigned from whirling around and instead, simply fell prostate to the ground. Legolas' knives sang over his head and managed to crop at some of his hair. Just as inventively, Eomer pulled the silks from beneath Legolas' feet, and the elf fell to the ground beside him with a remarkably un-elven thud.

_Unglamorous_, Legolas thought with some annoyance, _but effective_.

Rolling over the elf's body, Eomer straddled him and pressed his sword upon the angry elf's neck. Legolas' eyes defiantly met his, and Eomer knew that his grip will not hold for very long if his friend seriously resisted.

They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment, and Eomer knew for a certainty that Legolas was deeply contemplating how much further he was going to take this.

"I want Nicolo's father killed," Legolas said stonily, even as he let his body fall limp as he quit from resisting. "I want his _entire_ family killed."

"I cannot let that happen," Eomer replied, "An alliance with Nathaniel can further our cause."

"_Your_ cause," Legolas clarified, "Not mine."

"What was stolen, Legolas?" Eomer asked him softly.

The elf evaded his question as much as he averted his gaze. "How did we become all the things we despised, Eomer?" he asked quietly, "You and Estel… marauding around with your great army, ironically looking for peace. And me… me I do not even have a word for."

"Don't include _me_ in your misery and confusion," Eomer chided him gently, "I'm quite certain of all the things I'm doing."

"Well," Legolas breathed, looking back the King of Rohan, "You won, it seems."

"You let me," Eomer pointed out.

"You were willing to kill me for this," said Legolas, "I was not willing to kill you. Either you are right and I am wrong, or you just want it more."

"I wasn't going to kill you," Eomer chuckled, "I was just going to hurt you a little."

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, trying to catch a breath that was suddenly too short, his mind trying to catch up to the events of the evening. Eomer shifted away from him and rose to his feet.

"Well," Legolas grunted as Eomer offered him a hand up to rise, "I am relieved to find I can still love more than I can hate."

Eomer looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before attempting a rueful smile, "I believe it is now safe to _breathe_. What was the cause of this ruckus?"

"Nathaniel disapproved of me as a perspective son-in-law," Legolas said wryly, "Among other things… the insult tonight, for one. And…" he hesitated, "He discovered the exact circumstances of the deaths of Danielli and Nicolo."

Braving Eomer's wrath and his judgment, Legolas quickly apprised him of how he denied the two Easterling warriors of their surrender when he killed them.

"They all but surrendered," Legolas said with a wince, turning away from the King of Rohan, "And I deprived them of it." He glanced at the weapons and silks littering the floor of his tent, desired to diffuse the situation somewhat as he commented, "What a mess."

"Why?" Eomer asked him simply.

The elf deigned to reply, refused to even look at the King, not wanting to be unmasked any further.

"Elf," Eomer grumbled, "Make up for it at least. Wed the girl, seal this treaty."

"I cannot," Legolas told him simply, collecting his weapons, "I cannot."

To be continued…

**

* * *

****Hey guys!** Thanks to all who read and especially all who reviewed. You should know that these fics are powered by your support so MASSIVE MASSIVE thanks and until the next post! Oh, chapter seven has Haldir in it so look out for that:) 


	7. Allies

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? WARNING: Slash.

* * *

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece. Oh and I also can't name elves in elvish to save my life so excuse me, haha. 

**

* * *

**

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

Chapter Seven: Allies

The Rohan Front

* * *

Deep night to early dawn of a war camp at the tail of a battle had its own brand of eerie peace. Cackling fires and quiet conversations, scurrying feet and clanking weapons and tinkering knives, the occasional pained moaning of the injured and the dying, or of restless nightmares of the horrors of the days past, and then the gentle assurances of friends and brothers in arms permeated the frigid air that still carried with it the stench of blood.

Nights like these were not strange to a seasoned warrior. Many of them have even forgotten that life was supposed to be some other way. But an elf's years were longer, and though this particular elfin warrior's known his share of violence, he's known his share of peace too, and he could never forget.

Lilian of Lothlorien had given the nights a peace that was far less akin to a graveyard. She had a quiet, unobtrusive laugh and glittering eyes that easily caught any smidgen of light. In humor, these eyes would widen just so, and her strange, wiry, useful hands would shoot up to her mouth to cover her laughs, and he'd pry them off just to watch her lower her head and cower from his gaze, and then peer up at him to see if he was still watching.

She smelled like the flowers she was named for, and he wondered if it was something she was born as and thereafter named for, or perhaps she held her own cunning and scented herself after her name, reminding him along all levels of memory of herself, that he may never forget, that he would always remember.

Which was fine at the start, he decided. Fine as long as he knew he could still return home and find that all her reminders would be rewarded by her love, her presence. He was a soldier, much in demand, and saw her seldom. But he walked the forests and her scent was there and then he'd smile for in a way, she was too. Lilian's scent breezed by over the blood, lined the impossible length of his road. Her memory strengthened him, visions of her warmed him. She laid claim to his past, comforted the impossibilities of his present, and promised him a future.

_It was indeed fine at the start_, he decided

And then he returned home and she was dead.

And then he saw the rather pointed disadvantages of her unforgettable ness. Unfortunate that she was dead, when he's already paid so much and lost so much just to return to her. Unfortunate that she was so hard to forget, and then the pain comes of the loss and its constant reminders, and then the guilt comes of once having wanted someone else other than her, of once thinking perhaps he could leave her after all, of once thinking that perhaps he could live without her…

_But I didn't wish for her death_…

_I came back, didn't I?_ he thought desperately, _I chose her in the end. I chose her in the end. And then they killed her, and then I lost everything after all_…

_They took her from me._

_They took my choice, _my freedom_, from me._

Legolas sat before a fire at the edges of the camp. He's long since abandoned the confines of his tent. Someone handed him a pint of ale, said it was to keep warm with (not get drunk with, unfortunately), and he decided to drink it. Absently, he put the pint to his mouth for the nth time that evening and blinked to suddenly realize a breath later that it was empty. He lowered the pint to the ground, and raised his gaze to find a fellow elfin warrior smiling sublimely and knowingly at him.

"Haldir," the Mirkwood elf said, his own face opening up at the unguarded instant of the joy of reunion.

"An acquired taste, isn't it?" the Lothlorien elf asked the prince as he sat on the ground next to him and offered him a sip of the pint he himself carried.

"It has interesting effects," Legolas conceded, glancing at the glass before deciding against it with a shake of his head. Haldir shrugged, took a sip of the intoxicating drink before laying it to the ground.

Legolas regarded the Marchwarden with a tilt of his head. The elf looked hardier than when Legolas last had a sight of him… admittedly the last time they saw each other Haldir looked more like a corpse, severely injured and courted by death after Helm's Deep. The years were fleeting, and he heard the elf miraculously survived but hadn't seen for his own eyes until this night, and the sight of him was so different that Legolas could have been told that Haldir died and was resurrected as an _adan_ and he'd have believed.

The elf of the Golden Wood lost some of his pomp, or perhaps that was not fair to say… Haldir without pomp was like the Golden Wood without the Gold. The Lothlorien elf seemed to have… _acclimated_ his brand of spectacle. His golden hair was tied loosely behind him with a strangely graceful string of rope. It was longer, more spindly but certainly no less beautiful especially since the light of the fire played with the straying strands and he appeared haloed. He was garbed in a hybrid of Rohan and Lothlorien's best, and from the Westron he more comfortably and quickly spoke, Legolas noted he's acquired some of the accent of the local dialect as well.

"You've not been home to the Wood since before you came to Helm's Deep," Legolas said definitively.

"The women of this country are stubborn as..." a curse word in the Rohan tongue that Legolas did not understand, "I was not allowed lengthy travel until the scars have gone completely. I told them to keep me occupied at least, and they let me have my way with their young soldiers and their gardens and things and this crafty, cunning folk kept me occupied until long past the healing. The years sped by, I'm afraid. They took advantage of our kind's immortal disposition and disregard for the fleeting moments. And then I heard the Lady and many others have gone and sailed away, and my home's diminished, and I suppose I've not had the heart to see for myself since." He smiled wistfully, "Besides. I'm quite liked here."

Legolas smirked, 'Won't find that elsewhere,' he said in their elfin tongue.

'Don't be snide,' Haldir said primly, changing languages easily.

Legolas smiled, pulled his knees to his chest, warmed and disarmed by the conversation.

'In truth though,' said Haldir, 'The extent of my stay's taught me much. I see now why you have such an affinity for men.'

Legolas watched him expectantly.

'We're a dying race, my friend,' Haldir said, 'Owners of as dying age. We've to learn to give them this Earth, but there is no generosity without love. I once was willing to give my life because of an alliance. Now it is because they have faces and names and they let me teach their children and grow their trees, and they healed me and tied me to a cursed bedpost when I didn't know any better how to care for myself. I will sail one day. It is easier to have heirs I know and care for.' The elf stared at the fire, remnants of an old pain streaking across the glitter of his eyes, 'You and I, we are the only elves to survive Helm's Deep, did you know that?'

'I suspected,' Legolas said softly, and he remembered how desperately he longed to flee that place and busy himself with work and warring in escape.

'How I hated them for it,' said Haldir, 'How I once hated them for it. That they lived, that we died. That they'd have our world. That I was fighting for something that was not mine. That they needed us. That we helped them. How I hated them… And then the years sped by and then… perhaps… perhaps the price was steep but the rewards were just. I think I can die for them again.'

"And here you are," said Legolas.

"And here I am," Haldir said, watching the Prince curiously, "I wonder if we share the same reasons. You are a dear friend to Elessar. You of all people have knowledge of this land's heir. Is that why you fight so fiercely? Because you know he can lead them to make something of themselves?"

"I am more shortsighted," Legolas said with a self-deprecating laugh, "He is a friend, I have talents to offer, time to spare, frustrations to release…"

Haldir waited for him to expound, but there was a joke there, some bitter irony only Legolas understood and wished not to speak of. The Lothlorien elf did not pry. He understood demons, by god, how he once lived them. He let the prince alone, and decided to speak of lighter things.

"We shall turn toward brighter matters," Haldir declared, "How goes your life with my kinsman? My distant cousin, whose eyes shone with her love for you? You've not cuckolded her yet, have you? You know, my Prince, you can be such a rascal with the women if you only applied yourself. Or has Lilian tired of you already?"

Legolas laughed, but there was an edge to it that Haldir did not quite understand. The Mirkwood elf claimed the ale Haldir previously laid down and finished it in a single gulp.

"You can say we tired of each other," the Mirkwood elf said, wishing there was more of the ale, and less of the scent of the lilies in the air.

* * *

Legolas volunteered to bear the message to Aragorn in Minas Tirith, of the possibility of an alliance with the Sang-age. While the King of Rohan certainly worried for the state of mind of the embattled elven Prince, he also saw the merits of his logic; "I am the fastest rider," Legolas pointed out, "And, to say the least, a _liability_ to your negotiations. You want me out of your way, Eomer, you and I both know that if I do not leave, I will not be able to curb my tongue. And I am needed in Ithilien, besides."

And so Legolas left with the same group of elves he arrived with. His departure gave Eomer both worry and relief. They were never truly the greatest of friends although undoubtedly, Eomer cared for Legolas' well-being. Nevertheless, he was off toward where the people who understood him the best were: Aragorn and Gimli the Dwarf, who traveled to Gondor from the Glittering Caves.

"Have a safe journey," he murmured to himself as he watched the messenger ride away.

* * *

Nathaniel accosted Eomer after the departure of Legolas, just as the King of Rohan was entering his tent. The Sang-age King had obviously considered the terms of their surrender for quite awhile; he offered a thick parchment of claims and promises to the King of Rohan.

Eomer's brows rose as he accepted the sheaf of papers.

"I am a warrior, yes," Nathaniel said, "But no fool. We were fighting a tenuous front in a war that was quickly losing purpose and possibility of victory. As your armies marched to face our lands, I've had time to think."

"A wise decision," Eomer murmured.

"It is…" Nathaniel hesitated, his eyes clouding at a distant memory, "It is just as well that Danielli and Nicolo are dead. Our Ally, and our Prince_my son-in-law and my son_chased grand dreams that were ultimately dying. We are facing a new time, I believe. There was no longer a place for the wild desires of youth. I do not mind the peace, but then again, I am old, and in longing for it. Do you know I've never tasted it before?"

"I am not surprised," Eomer said, "None of us have, I think."

"All that we demand is there," Nathaniel said, nodding to the papers, "Release of our prisoners of war, release of yours. If you must have our lands then the women and the children must be unharmed. These are all very… standard, I believe."

"Aye," Eomer agreed. "But we will not take your lands, Nathaniel. This is not our way."

"I…" Nathaniel breathed in relief, "I gathered as much. And we are therefore left with fewer matters. Less of policy and more of practice. Namely, planning and implementing safe and mutually accessible trade routes, specific steps toward freeing our prisoners of war, negotiation of compensation to families of the deceased, an armistice, and all of these sealed by the marriage of Legolas of Mirkwood and my daughter."

_Which is actually the hard part,_ came the unsaid between the two Kings.

Eomer leafed through the papers, and the word 'marriage' caught his eye. "After last night, I did not think you would still want our noble elf to be your daughter's husband."

"It is our law," Nathaniel said, not bothering to hide his own disgust, "And therefore I am duty-bound to convey this to you. Ownership will be passed on to Legolas. Of my daughter, of her son, and everything else Danielli and Nicolo owned. I've been advised by my legal counsel that he _must_ accept, then yield to someone else if he so desired —they are after all, his property and therefore his to use or dispose of. His acceptance will be merely legal fiction. But, my King, alliances are also to be sealed by a marriage. And our people will likely not accept a warrior or royal of less stature and renown. He is ideal. Much to my dismay."

_And much to his_, Eomer thought wryly.

"The sooner this is done," said Nathaniel, "All the better for your side and mine, I believe."

"Indeed," agreed the King of Rohan, "Time is of the essence. As always. Your other allies must see the value in our friendship and quickly follow suit, before more people die."

"I do not know about you," said Nathaniel, "But I tire of war. We must show them the best face of a peace treaty."

They both knew what that meant: _this has to work_.

Eomer leaned back in his seat, rubbed at his chin in thought. "Indulge me, my King. You speak now of greatly wanting this peace, and of Legolas' part in it. And yet you came to him last night with intent to kill."

"An effort thwarted," the wily old man admitted with a wistful smile, "A lesson learned."

"You were in our camp," Eomer pointed out, "And under My protection. And yet you attacked an ally of mine. How can I be sure you will abide by the agreements our treaty will make?"

"I technically did not break my word to you," replied Nathaniel, "Under our laws, Legolas of Mirkwood claimed the properties of Danielli and Nathaniel after he killed them. Therefore, my assault upon him last night cannot be considered an act of war, for it is more of a _domestic_ matter. I do not call it a betrayal of your trust. I call it a land dispute."

Eomer frowned. _Fair enough_.

"I will not expect any more such… _disturbances_ from you," Eomer said sternly, "Remember. Your laws are not the only ones that matter anymore. If you are clever, my King, you will not harm any ally of mine. Yes, because it will jeopardize our treaty. But more because you will not want to see me truly _displeased_. But, if you want to _live_, you will _especially_ not harm _that_ particular ally of mine. Because you will have two of the land's grandest Kings on your heels, and I likely will not be needed at all."

_Oh indeed_, Eomer envisioned, thinking of Thranruil and Elessar. But the blade cut both ways too; Legolas had better not stir up any trouble either.

"A just warning," Nathaniel almost smirked, deciding he liked Eomer of Rohan. "Are _you_ by any chance, married?"

"I am promised," Eomer replied in a clipped tone, not quite liking where he thought this could go, "What of it?"

"I am missing a son-in-law," Nathaniel pointed out, "And I do not like, and am _certainly_ not liked by the only option given me."  
"I… apologize," Eomer said haltingly.

"You know, you are young yet," Nathaniel said, "But let me tell you a thing or two about _our_ politics. I am a King of a little-known tribe, blessed with a curious little stroke of luck, despite the relatively small army, the relatively small property.

"The Easterlings are composed of quite a lot of tribes, horse master," Nathaniel continued, and Eomer was arrested by the old man's soothing voice and the information he was divulging, "And I have nine beautiful daughters but just one son. Having just one male meant that I had but a single, solitary blood-heir, rather risky in times of war. But then, marry off your daughters to this tribe and that, and you have a rather well-connected man, for our tribal alliances are traditionally sealed by marriage. I used these connections very cleverly. But alas, I am out of daughters save for one. And you, my lord, are _elsewhere_ promised."

Eomer knew the implications of this; Nathaniel's defeat and surrender could result in favor of more peace treaties, an arrangement that could set a precedent for other tribes to follow, because he was an important and influential man, blessed as he was with so many daughters and many powerful son-in-laws to whom they were given in marriage.

Eomer also knew what Nathaniel was hanging before him; the wily old man was actually _trying_ to get Eomer to revoke his promise to his own betrothed and wed his daughter Nadina, Danielli's widow, instead!

The diplomatic double-talk was giving him a headache. He fervently wished that Legolas would ride Arod like the wind and bring Elessar _here_.

To be continued…

* * *

**Some notes and responses**…

**To sesshyangel**: nope, it's not just about the girl, as you may be getting an idea of based on this chapter. Legolas is not just driven by revenge for the death of Lilian, and if you're up to a spoiler I'll tell you what's going down, haha. When I started writing "Love, War" it was not meant to be a slash. You may see this from the story summary—it's about friendship. But I have also seen the excessive nature of the murderous anger, so I wanted to give Legolas an even deeper, more complex reason for his rage. On the surface, of course he wants revenge for the murder of his betrothed. But if you delve deeper, and as will be slowly revealed along the course of the tale, it's not just about the death of the girl he loves (massive spoilerskip this part if you don't want to read it haha). Along the course of the Quest, Legolas fell in love with someone else (i.e., Aragorn) but ultimately made the choice to return to Lilian, for his responsibilities to his kingdom and his word to her, and the responsibilities of Aragorn to Gondor and Arwen as well. So whwen Lilian died… it's not just that he lost the girl. As was said in this chapter, he had given up so much (i.e. Aragorn) to be with her, and when she was killed, it's as if all his chances for love were taken away from him—Lilian who was dead, and Aragorn whom he had given up and who was by that time already reunited with Arwen. Pretty convoluted, huh:) Anyway, I hope it'll only get clearer as the story progresses.

**To child of the golden leaves**: ask away, haha :) my email is but of course you can ask through the reviews as well. People may be wanting to ask the same things after all :)

**MASSIVE THANKS** to all who read and reviwed. Like I kwwp saying, it's not the most popular of my stories, and coming from the celebrated FEE, it's humbling to release a fic that isn't much read, so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! Your support powers the writing and posting. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU:)

Oh, and watch out for chapter nine and ARAGORN:)


	8. If You Ask

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

* * *

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**: 

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

**

* * *

****PART ONE: Those Lost**

Chapter Eight: If You Ask

The Road to the Gondor Front

* * *

The sight of Minas Tirith always made his heart skip a beat a little. He saw with his elven eyes and their perpetually near-but-not-quite sight of the distant horizon, the White City as it rose atop hostile flatlands like a mighty overlord, daring the emptiness. It stretched out and up like a defiant fist, reaching for the stars. 

The sight was unabashedly grand, unearthly. Legolas remembered the first time he saw the City. Come exhausted from battle, emerged the victor though mind embattled by some other new foe to fell, the City still commanded his attention and respect. Used as he was to beauty and grandeur, he still yielded with no struggle at all, let the beautiful City have its due.

Even in the smoky turbulence at the tail of a battle that was very nearly lost, even in the midst of ruin and carnage, Minas Tirith stood proud and bold, not unlike the King she claimed, the King she's long waited to welcome home.

Legolas, of course, remembered the King too, for how can one forget Elessar, whom he had known and loved in varying stages of his growing greatness. There was he much burdened by his inheritance; tarnished histories, fearful of his own blood. And then there too was the Ranger, the final incarnate of a host of names and identities before he settled with Elfstone at the last. Strider was weathered and callused, but calmer, more regal. And then there was Elessar. And then it was that Legolas knew the world gained a King but he lost… _he_ lost, quite plainly.

He lost the world, for one, because for all his burden and toil he was set to leave it, for she was the noble inheritance of the _edain_, who at last found their leader and made themselves worthy of their bequest. And then he lost Estel too, one of the dearest of his friends for he belonged to the land, now, and to his own people, more than he belonged to anyone else.

It was long in coming, he reflected, and it was only what was just, what should happen. But he knew it best then, he supposed, that first walk into Minas Tirith, up toward the White Tower after the victory at Pelannor Fields. The work was keeping Elessar busy, everyone was asking the King questions. There was really no time for a slow, burning entrance into his kingdom, no time to gawk at the fate that brought him there after so long. Legolas watched his old friendElessar was he nowso occupied, so distant. They did not and could not even share in the marvel of the City. It seemed as if they shared in nothing.

It was not unexpected. What he did not know, especially as he slowed his pace and let himself be overtaken by the multitude of men who had urgent business with the King, was that it would be as poignantly painful as it was. He backed off, feeling like a nuisance, and a flood of men crowded the space he had occupied, as if he had never stood there.

At that moment, Legolas remembered a curious part of his youth, one he thought he'd forgotten. He was a sprightly soldier still learning the ways of the world. His contingent, on a message-bearing duty, came upon a tribe of men who occupied themselves with carving beautiful pieces of work on wood, and then burned them as an offering to their gods. And he remembered too, much earlier than that, the first arrow shaft he let fly was one that he had made with his own hands too.

_I helped make you_, he thought of Elessar, he thought of Middle-Earth, which were by now inextricably linked for their joint fates away from him, and their joint claims to his heart, _and now you belong to someone else_.

There was jealousy and there was pride and there was he, torn once again between two passions. Just as he was torn between Earth and Sea. Just as he was torn between staying and leaving, restlessness and complacency, resistance and surrender, love and hate, killing for the dead and dying for the living, loving Lilian and loving

He shook his head in dismay. It was not for him to think of anymore. They had agreed, they must not do or say anything they'd regret. So there was no conflict between Lilian and _him_, the latter would have come to nothing. Suffice to say, though, given the examples prior to Lilian that he seemed quite often torn.

_No matter_, he decided, he was never anyone's fool. He's always known, he's always known… It just hurt, but then he's always known that too…

_I helped make you,_ he thought once again,_ and now you belong to someone else_.

_'We're a dying race, my friend,'_ Haldir had said to him, the firelight playing with the shadows of his face, _'Owners of as dying age. We've to learn to give them this Earth, but there is no generosity without love.'_

_I have loved_, Legolas remembered, _But__ I've hated too_… What was he to do to reconcile them then?

_"Past is past, Legolas," _he remembered Eomer, now, _"I look to the future. Restless ghosts will one day tire and sleep. It is my people and one day my children, whom I wish to spare from joining them. Can we all not simply seek to enjoy a life that is short enough without wars and killing?" _

_"Let me teach you one final thing, dear prince,"_ Nicolo had said to him that night he was robbed of his life, "_All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war. All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance."_

_"It is no honor of mine to cross blades with a foe like you,"_ Nathaniel, that night Legolas had tried to do the same to Nicolo's father.

"_I've been confused by you since your return… I stepped in here and realized you've become someone I do not quite…_ recognize," and then Eomer, that same night, disappointed and angry and confused with him…

"_When did our eyes look toward different horizons?_"

The sight of Minas Tirith blurred before his eyes, and he realized tears have come unbidden to obscure his vision, just as he realized, now more than ever, that:

_This world is no longer mine_.

He's become her villain, her overstaying guest or worse yet, her destructive tenant. From being her celebrated champion, its folk now looked to him as a threat, a nuisance, a hindrance to their goals.

_This world is no longer mine_.

He turned East, not straight toward the city. Minas Tirith he saw from the distance but it was not to where he was headed. The King wouldn't be there. A battle was afoot, and Elessar was never one to sit on a throne behind the white walls of his mighty fortress and send other men out to their deaths. He wouldn't put any man through any challenge where he would not stand with them.

_Which is just as well_, Legolas thought, _This__ treaty that we are making… _my _part in it… the life it saves could very well be that of yours, dear friend_.

* * *

The Gondor Front

* * *

It was raining in the edge of the desert. 

How unlikely was that, rain in a desert, and then that it should rain now that he was traveling? But then again now was not the time to dwell on the more trivial unfortunate events in his life. One more in a long list, and this one was comparatively not so bad.

The sentries at the flank of the camped Gondorian army recognized the elfin Prince easily and let him go wherever he pleased.

"Where is the King?" he asked of the men he passed. He knew already of course, that it could only be between the tactics tent or that of healing. Aragorn seldom used that scandalously lavish resting tent of his. They might as well just spare the horses the burden and bring the King a mat and a flask of water, and even these were necessities not often used by him.

"He is with his generals, my lord," replied a soldier.

"I'm afraid I must disrupt them," Legolas decided, knowing to barge in now in the thick of a discussion was to ruin its flow, for Aragorn always saw it fit to apprise him of the situation and consult with him, perhaps by force of habit. It stepped on some toes, ate up valuable time. Legolas was a soldier, and a very practical one. He knew these things very well, but he bore an urgent message that will have a huge bearing on their plans. He dismounted his horse and left the reins to Mikael. He stalked toward the tent purposefully, and the pair of sentries at the door let him in without any questions.

"My lord," Legolas said to announce himself formally.

Aragorn noticed the nuance, and immediately knew that the elf was here primarily for official business. It was not hard to note that that's been his only reason for a visit since… since… Elessar could not recall. He gave the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen a slight bow, although the Dwarf beside him was for more excitable and tore through the small group of tacticians and gripped Legolas' forearm in welcome.

"You've been hiding out too long, master elf," said Gimli, and managed to court a warm smile from the elf before he continued on with his urgent message.

"I bear news from the North," said Legolas, quickly, plainly. He was not unused to this messenger job. "King Danielli is dead, his army had surrendered. His general, Nicolo, is dead as well. They folded to the forces of Eryn Lasgalen. I bore this news to the front of Rohan who faced King Nathaniel of the Sang-age tribe. Nathaniel, having also been informed that his lines are thinning and there are no reinforcements forthcoming, surrendered and is in the hands of King Eomer. They wish to draft a treaty that can be a precedent for other Eastern tribes to see the value in an alliance with the West. King Eomer requests the immediate presence of Elessar toward the drafting of this peace treaty."

"My lord," said one of Elessar's generals, awed, "An alliance with Nathaniel… why, he's wed his harem of daughters to practically every scattered Easterling tribe there is. To ally with him is indeed to show these tribes that peace is the best way."

"This is good news," Elessar said, excitedly stalking toward Legolas and gripping his shoulder, "This is very good news, my friend. The victory of our elfin allies in the north under your command is commendable for granting us all these new options. I must go there at once."

"There is a storm coming," said Legolas, "It is in the air, and it is raining as it is. I suspect this can wait awhile. Look to the thinning lines of our foes… they will take any delay they can find, and we will find no rush from them."

Aragorn hesitated.

'You will not be any good to anyone if you get caught in a mire somewhere,' Legolas said to him in elvish, 'or if you catch your death of cold, old man.'

The King smirked. "I will wait a night," he decided.

* * *

The three hunters were once again united, perhaps for the first time since the Quest that had changed the face of the world. The task this evening was certainly not as monumental although, as in all aspects of his life, Elessar devoted himself to it completely. 

Gimli and Legolas watched, amused, as the King scoured his lavish quarters for a towel. The elf was soaking wet from travel and the King was concerned, except his tent was so unused that he absolutely had no idea where anything was.

"Estel," said Legolas, a smile playing about his lips, "You need not bother. I am already drying. You are losing your race with time."

"I hate losing," Aragorn said, turning toward him with a mad grin and a youthful gleam in his wizened eyes as he triumphantly drew out a towel and tossed it to Legolas.

"That took awhile," Legolas said wryly, "I'd hate to ask for tea or for that matter, I'd hate to ask for anything else."

"You should've just let the elf rot," grumbled Gimli, looking for the plushiest seat in the room and finally settling down on Aragorn's throne. He patted the padded armrests in satisfaction.

"We don't rot," Legolas countered, slightly belatedly. He was slightly winded, slightly bewildered. The banter was… strange, suddenly, as if it was now lightness that denied itself in that it was something he had to consciously readjust to.

"Tea," Aragorn said suddenly, his eyes roving about the room in another search.

"Elessar need not wait on me hand and foot," Legolas told him evenly. "For that matter, you need not wait on anyone, my friend."

"But you are a rare visitor," Aragorn told him distractedly as he looked, before he caught the ironic gaze of the elf. "You've been making yourself much scarce, Legolas."

"I am the servant of two kingdoms, Estel," said the elf, explicitly referring to Eryn Lasgalen and Ithilien, though he actually meant three and secretly referred to Gondor for his attachment to its King, his good friend, "It should be of no surprise to you."

"Ah, yes, well," said Aragorn, giving up on the search and sticking his head out the opening of the tent and asking the sentries for a meal before turning back to his old friends, "Knowledge of this makes you no less missed. Arwen and my brothers inquire of you often, as do our friends in Rohan, and even Faramir and Eowyn who are theoretically your neighbors don't know where you are most of the time," Aragorn smirked, "Even the dwarf's missed you."

"Of course he has," Legolas said lightly.

"Of course I have," muttered the dwarf, deciding the winded elf was not making for such a sporting antagonist this evening and he might as well admit to the fact and perhaps they'd see each other more often. The elfin prince glanced at him sidelong and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"I suppose you are riding with me back to the lines of Rohan," said Aragorn, "this storm then is a good respite. I'm sure you've been traveling for endless days and nights."

"It is not something I'm unused to," said Legolas, "but no, _mellon-nin_, not this time. I've to see to Ithilien. They've been without me for too long."

"Ah," said Aragorn, understanding but disappointed, "Yes. Well. Leadership is what it is."

"Aye," grumbled Gimli, "We are all quite old and disgustingly responsible."

"Will you be joining me master dwarf?" asked Aragorn.

Gimli glanced at Legolas thoughtfully. They've not seen each other in awhile, but he felt he would be of much more use beside the King of Gondor, this time. Legolas did not need anyone looking over his shoulder and jostling his elbow over the comparatively mechanical task of checking upon his soldiers. He's long been their lord and it was not a trying task for an elf born to command. Aragorn, on the other hand, was off to deal with an Easterling King.

"I won't pine for the loss of you if that is what you're thinking," said Legolas wryly.

"That's not at all what I'm thinking," snapped Gimli, "I was merely contemplating who amongst you troublemakers will likely not survive if I was not around to get you out of your straits."

"Ah yes, well," said Legolas, "Aragorn is your fellow then."

"That is arguable," said Elessar mildly, though his eyes were laughing. He sighed in pleasure. "Well. The journey in the morning will bring to me what fellows it will. In the meantime, we stand before a peace we've long labored for and I have a free evening with two good friends who are often too scarce for my liking. Tonight, we are together, and all is well."

"All is well," echoed Legolas, softly, that the expectant-looking Elessar may not hear the lie. But Aragorn caught it either way, and was opening his mouth to speak of it when the sentries outside brought in the tea.

* * *

The rains caught their zenith in the evening. It was cold and wet, and the sturdy tent swayed with the slashes of the wind. The dwarf dominated a corner of the King's quarters, just as the boom of his snoring dominated the room, and the pitter-patter of the rain against the tents seemed… well, _dwarfed_ by the sound. 

The evening reminded him of some nights ago, the last time he had been with royalty in a tent under the deluge of rain. That royalty had been Nicolo, whom he killed that same night. He stared up at the ceiling emptily, as he recalled the dead man's words.

_All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing which is a given especially in times of war_

"You're not sleeping," came the quiet murmur of Elessar somewhere in the darkness of the room, toward his left.

"Neither are you," the elf replied evenly, "_Mellon-nin_… do you know that I cannot remember the last time I shared a room with you and there was a decent shade over our heads?"

The King gave it a moment of thought before he chuckled. "You are right. We always seem to by lying beneath naught but a ceiling of stars."

"You make it sound better than it was," said Legolas wryly, "There were dark, cold clouds too, and snow, and rain, and sleet, and thunderstorms…"

"I try to forget about those," said Aragorn impishly.

"You try to forget much," the elf retorted.

"Ah yes, well," said Aragorn lightly, "But who amongst the pair of us is the happier, hm?"

"Why, do I look unhappy?" asked the elf, brows raised.

The man hesitated. "You seem much changed."

"It was not meant to be a serious question," the elf said after an uneasy silence and a long moment of thought.

"It nevertheless deserved a serious answer," said Aragorn, and Legolas heard him shift in the dark, likely to turn toward him. Elves glowed, and he knew full-well that the man could see him relatively clearly.

"What makes you look as if you have the world on your shoulders, my friend?" Aragorn asked him gently.

"I don't have the world on my shoulders," Legolas said lightly, wishing for some levity and praying the man would indulge him, "That is your job."

Aragorn did not let it go, of course, but the elf could hear the touch of a smile upon his words. "Be serious, now. You seem… weary. But also restless. You run yourself to the ground. I've not seen this in you since…" he hesitated again, and Legolas also heard in his pained voice the streaks of equally painful memories, "I've not seen this in you for a long while."

Not since they thought Gandalf died. Not since Boromir died. Not since Helm's Deep and all that it meant for his doomed kin there. No, he's not seen this in his elven friend for quite some time.

"Is it the sea-longing?" inquired the _adan_, "Is it…"

He did not continue the question. Legolas would know what it meant. It meant that part they were never supposed to speak of. It meant _her_, she who was not to be named, she whose name was never Aragorn's to utter.

"It is all this warring," Legolas said and decided it was not too much of a lie, "I've not found enough time to stand back and catch my breath. And when I do find the time, my mind is plagued by all the other things I have to do and then I'm not rested at all. Lying around is a complete waste of my time."

"Well it is all almost to an end it seems," Aragorn said, skeptical that this was the true reason, but accepting for now, "The gods willing."

"Aye," agreed Legolas, "The gods willing."

"I am excited for this treaty," said Aragorn, "Did you ever think we'd live through to an age of peace?"

"No," said Legolas, leaving it at that after he decided that to be honest and expressly say that he didn't think he'd ever be at peace even now would just worry the man some more.

"And here we are," Aragorn murmured.

"You sound sleepy," the elf declared, "I suppose you've not found much time for rest yourself."

"That is true," conceded the King, stifling a yawn, "You are off to Ithilien in the morning?"

"Yes," replied Legolas, "I plan to leave here when you leave to see Eomer."

"Ah," said Aragorn, "If you will not be too busy, my friend, find the time to go to Minas Tirith after you see to your beloved Ithilien. See how my city fares, see my wife and child. My brothers are there as well. Let them ease your mind, take some rest. And… I wonder if you'd bear them a message from me."

"I knew there was a catch," chuckled the elf, "You own an army, you shameless man, and you still make me do menial things."

"I'm being economical," said Elessar, "Only if you happen by that way, of course."

"I'm sure I'll find the time," said Legolas with a half-baked effort at sarcasm. The conversation was taking a lighter turn that was disarming him, making him quite ready for some rest indeed. Already his mind was fleeting. "What is this message of yours that I am to bring to them?"

"I was going to make something up," said Aragorn with a yawn, "Just so you'd take the time to stay there awhile and _breathe._ I can't make you do so for I'll be occupied elsewhere, but my brothers can probably succeed. In all seriousness, elf, you do need the rest."

"I will take that into consideration," Legolas murmured sleepily, "Estel?"

"Yes?" inquired the King.

"About this treaty business," said the elf, voice drifting as his own mind began to depart toward rest, "If you asked me to, I will. I can't pretend it won't be difficult but just ask it of me. Just give me some time, but I will do it if you ask it of me…"

Aragorn blinked, trying to get his mind to wake. The elf was saying something important. "Ask you to what?"

The elf didn't reply. He was sound asleep, he's long been weary, and Aragorn did not have the heart to wake him.

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

HEY GUYS! Thanks to all who read and especially all who reviewed! I'm a bit in a rush so I'll put up responses to your queries in the next poswt. I suppose I wanted to get this out already. Anyway, I hope it went ok… you know your feedback is important in how the tale progresses so they are always always welcome :) happy easter! Next chapter, we'll be running into Elladan and Elrohir :) 'TIL THE NEXT POST! 


	9. Too Many Faces

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

**

* * *

**

**Part One: Those Lost**

Chapter Nine: Too Many Faces

The Gondor Front

* * *

He did not sleep for very long, and it was just as well. The man was going to make a nuisance of himself, predicted the elf, and that meant just one thing: he'd better start running. Last night, he was sleepy enough to have had a loose tongue, but he hadn't been so far gone that the morning brought him forgetfulness.

_I owe him an explanation_, Legolas figured, but decided he'd leave that job to Eomer. It not only relieved him of the burden, he fancied it would be much more interesting too.

_I also owe him a wedding it seems_, he thought with a wince. Oh, such terrible promises this ridiculous mouth makes. _That is, if he asks it of me_.

'Good morning my lord,' Mikael greeted him, handing him a cup of hot stew for breakfast. The morning was cool and breezy; wet, but no longer for the rains and more for the fog and mist. The sun will rise sometime in the afternoon, Legolas guessed.

'Thank you,' Legolas murmured, accepting the cup graciously. He took a sip off the steaming meal and gulped it down, feeling its comfortable warmth blaze down to his stomach. He'd forgotten he was hungry. He regarded his aide carefully; Mikael, in contrast, never seemed to forget, never seemed to be remiss of his duties.

'I've been difficult of late,' Legolas said, conversationally, not quite willing to apologize expressly.

'You are just like your father,' Mikael said after a long moment, 'When your lady mother passed on.'

'I was too young to recall,' Legolas lied, taking a sip of the brew again. He mistakenly thought he had been in an honest mood.

'What are you to do now, prince ling?' asked the older elf gently, 'Where does this end?'

'I've come to a decision,' said Legolas, 'I can wed the girl.'

'And that is it?' asked Mikael.

'I will not kill her in her sleep if that is what you ask,' said Legolas dryly.

'What changed your mind, my lord?' inquired Mikael. 'If I may ask.'

'I decided it no longer matters,' said Legolas quietly, 'They are all dead to me in a few years. I leave soon as well. I need not take all of this world and her people down with me; their years are shorter, they have less time to seek peace elsewhere, or some other time in the distant future.'

'It was Elessar who convinced you thus,' guessed Mikael.

'Everyone looks so happy over this treaty business,' said the other elf, 'I'm feeling like a villain suddenly. It does not sit well with me. Are the avengers and seekers of justice not the heroes in folk and tale? But what is this world that has turned upside down and stands on its head instead? This world is no longer mine, I no longer belong. I might as well play their game.'

'You can just sail away,' suggested Mikael.

Legolas winced, 'I've made promises years away from that option as well, I'm afraid. This cursed mouth with its unthinking promises. Which reminds me. We must leave soon.'

'Where to now, my lord?' Mikael asked, polishing off the last of his meal.

'_I_ go to Ithilien,' declared Legolas.

Mikael looked at him suspiciously. '"I?"'

* * *

_Clever for him to have left at first light_, Aragorn thought of the elf wryly. This meant he wisely gave Elessar no opportunities for query, and the dwarf no choice but to accompany Aragorn and leave him alone.

Gimli was more vocal about his objections, but he let himself be raised upon Arod, whom Legolas had left for him along with a note. The dwarf woke and stepped out of the tent, to be greeted by the elfin soldier Mikael who overly-ceremoniously (perhaps by Legolas' orders) bore him a sheet of paper.

_You get along with so few of them as it is_, it began immediately, without address or introduction, as if Legolas was just continuing a conversation, or perhaps it was because he was in a hurry, _I might as well leave you this one. I advised Arod to ride harder and be a bit more difficult, just so you'd have reminders of me_.

Aragorn mounted his own steed and glanced sidelong at the dwarf who rode beside him. Contrary to the contents of the note the dwarf had read and cursed so heartily over so early this morning (it was the curses that had stirred the King from sleep) and thereafter showed him to read, the white horse was in exceptionally exemplary behavior, and only the Vala know what sorts of promises (or bribery) Legolas may have given him in exchange.

"I break my neck and you'll break your arrogant master's heart, you understand?" the dwarf said to Arod under his breath, although Aragorn did note that Gimli's bark always was much louder than his bite was hard; the mouth cursed but his thick hands held the beast gently, and with some love too.

Aragorn kept the observation to himself, smiling tightly. He was just settling upon his mount when Mikael rode up beside him.

"My lord," said Mikael stiffly, as if he was profoundly miffed and desperately trying to contain it, "I was ordered by my master to ride with you in his stead."

"Gracious of him," murmured Aragorn thoughtfully, if not slightly suspiciously, "And who rides with him?"

"The rest of our party," said Mikael, "He does not ride alone, if that is your worry."

"And what is your worry?" asked Aragorn perceptively.

"That there is reason why he would not want me with him," said Mikael, wincing. The old elf was thinking back to earlier that morning, and the prince ling was preparing for the journey to Ithilien. The Mirkwood royal had a habit of saddling his own horse, preparing his own belongings, such that Mikael and the rest of Legolas' guard could simply tend to their own things.

As the group was doing so together, Legolas had looked up at Mikael and blinked at him innocently. 'There is no need for you to prepare for this journey, old friend.'

The old elf looked at him pointedly, and then glanced left and right at all the junior officers who were watching the exchange and listening very, very closely.

'I do not understand, my lord,' Mikael said.

'I want you to ride with Elessar in my stead,' said Legolas, 'He is a dear friend, and I've always stood beside him in harsh times. But I cannot, now. I can only be represented by the best.'

Mikael had a retort at the tip of his tongue, oh how he did… but Legolas was Thranduil's son, after all, and shared in the King's keen sense of the political. Legolas knew Mikael would disagree, and say that Mikael's first duty was to Thranduil, who had expressly ordered him to tail the embattled prince. But Legolas also knew that Mikael would not defy the prince in front of the other soldiers and undermine his authority, tarnish the power of his stature. Mikael had a great love for him and his family and would do nothing to dent that considerable reputation. And so the old elf bit his tongue and bore the appropriate impulse to strangle his young and admittedly very clever charge.

But before Legolas rode away with the rest of the elfin soldiers who did not share in his confidence as Mikael did, the older elf caught the prince with a few reminders.

'Do you have any love for me at all, my lord?' Mikael asked him in a low voice.

Legolas' lips quirked in laughing surprise. 'You've been a faithful servant of our House for longer than I've been alive. You are irritable, and you jog my elbow and look over my shoulder when I work. You speak your mind, and you tend to regard me with a helpless frustration that is not unlike my father's. The answer should be plain. Yes, of course. I do.'

'Then you will keep yourself alive until I can do it for you,' said Mikael fervently, 'For if you die, as will I.' He winced, 'Likely at the bare hands of your father.'

'I understand that,' said Legolas gently, 'Old friend… I will not do anything foolish that will harm you or I. I just need to be alone for awhile. There are things I will make right. But first, I must make my goodbyes with the past.'

'I will require your Word,' said Mikael.

'You have it,' said Legolas, eyes burning, 'You have it.'

And so it was that Mikael was left, and so it was that he now found himself riding next to the King of Men toward Rohan, who was watching his face carefully with those prying, silver eyes.

"Why wouldn't he want you with him?" asked Elessar.

"I jog his elbow and look over his shoulder much," Mikael replied, smiling slightly, "As I've been expressly told."

Elessar smiled a bit as well; if the overburdened old elf still can find it in himself to kid around, than perhaps there was nothing much to worry about.

"He likes his room," said Elessar, adding wistfully, "He likes his silence and his secrets too."

They rode on in silence for a few moments. The riding party was generally quiet, save for the dwarf who was more careful toward the rear, grumbling at his horse.

"You are just like your master, just like that arrogant pointy-ear…" Aragorn could hear him from the head of the column.

"That is probably why he gets along with the dwarf so well," he reflected, "Gimli pretends to be so obtuse that Legolas often finds the need to say how he feels explicitly. I imagine one needs that kind of prying, sometimes, before one explodes. But he is not as good at this silence as he thinks, you know. His eyes talk. Sometimes they scream. Do you not think so?"

"Aye," agreed Mikael, "That they do, my lord."

"I'm glad you concur," continued Elessar, "Which leads me to my next question. It being that we are in agreement of these such… _indicators_… of my old friend's troubles, I believe I can also safely say that his eyes have been _screaming_ as of late with something I do not quite recognize, but I'm certain you know of."

Mikael stared at the King of a long time. The man was as keen as Legolas, that was sure enough. Elessar just got him to agree to the prince's secretiveness, and then used his own agreement against him in order to glean information! If he wasn't so irked over being twice-duped by these young fools in just one morning, he'd have been rather impressed and amused.

"That observation is one you are free to make," Mikael said cautiously, "But 'tis not a secret that is mine to reveal."

"So there is a secret," said Elessar, slightly triumphantly.

Mikael wanted to jump off a cliff. Thrice-duped now! "There are always secrets. One can only know someone so much, after all."

"Fair of you to say," Elessar murmured.

"You've known each other long, my lord," said Mikael, "But it is never long enough to know everything. I myself have known him since he was born, but he retuned home to us after the War a different sort of fellow. I know for a certainty there are things you know of my liege that I do not."

* * *

Minas Tirith

* * *

They welcomed him warmly, the three Imladris royals. Undomiel, who was the city's queen, and her twin brothers who were lords of the distant elfin country.

'Who runs thy kingdom?' Legolas asked, looking from Elladan to Elrohir. They were old friends, and the Mirkwood prince knew full-well that in asking practical questions, one looked to Elladan primarily for answers.

'Worry not, _mellon-nin_,' said Elrohir with a bark of laughter, 'You may find the land is actually in better form when we are not in it.'

'Speak for yourself, brother,' Elladan said wryly, 'The cause of the chaos is most often you, and it is therefore our lordly duty to take you away from Rivendell once in awhile.'

Arwen smiled at Legolas beatifically. She's long endured the banter with class and patience. "How are you, Legolas?"

"I am well," he replied, "I came from the front at Eryn Lasgalen, traveled south to that of Rohan and then Gondor, and Ithilien thereafter. I ran into your husband at the front, and he bid me come here to see if your brothers have burnt the place down."

"Only the tower, so far," Arwen jested, her face bland and serious though her eyes shone.

"Elessar will be pleased," said Legolas gravely, "The lack of destructivity is an unexpected surprise. They've exceeded expectations, but then again, their visit is still not finished, is it?"

"How goes the front, old friend?" Elladan asked Legolas, ignoring the barb for he could not quite think of a clever return and the matter was of great importance anyway.

"The Easterling forces of the far north have succumbed to Eryn Lasgalen," said Legolas, "The tribe's King Danielli is dead, as is his general. The Easterling forces directly south of that, already troubled by Rohan and now lacking in reinforcements from the north, have surrendered. Its King Nathaniel has been recovered in perfect health, and in wanting of a peace treaty."

"I've heard of Nathaniel," said Elrohir, "This is good news."

"What of him?" asked Arwen.

"The man with the nine beautiful daughters," replied Elladan, "He married each of them to various Easterling tribes. These alliances have made him very well-connected. A peace treaty with Nathaniel can be our bridge to the rest of the tribes."

"A vital front you've fought," said Elrohir to Legolas, clasping his shoulder, "Elessar is lucky to have you."

"The King rides north to the front of Rohan," said Legolas, "where Nathaniel is detained by Eomer. The dwarf is with him to color the negotiations."

"Ah, yes," smiled Elladan, "He is not the most diplomatic of folk, but he has a good, stout heart."

"_Grandmama_ certainly thought so," said Elrohir wryly.

* * *

"I am jealous of you."

The queen's voice, though quiet and gentle, tore across the quiet of the starry evening, seeming much louder and much more pointed, making him a bit nervous as to what it was she could have meant. Or perhaps it was just his guilty heart.

"Jealous?" he echoed.

She smiled a bit, shook her head for him to disregard the statement as she moved toward him. The Citadel was empty this night, save for the sentries who made their rounds discreetly here and there, such that she was disarmed and candid in speaking with him.

"When Estel leaves," she said, "I find I walk these halls more and wonder at how it was we all came to be here. How he became who he is. This place… every corner and shadow screams of him. Some of them I know so well and others… some facets of him are a stranger to me. I suspect these are the facets you might know of."

"Hence the jealousy?" asked Legolas, his lips quirking a bit in amusement. She shrugged and smiled at him guiltily.

"What features of his are unrecognizable to you, my queen?" he asked her indulgently. He's always been very fond of her, despite… despite everything.

"I've known him longer," she said evenly, "But I'm not in your fellowship, am I? What was he like? Such great friendships were formed there, and he returned to me much changed. I find I wonder at times, if you should know more about him than I."

He smiled at her wistfully. "Such great friends were therein made, yes. But it is a fear unfounded. His way forward was undoubtedly guided by you. You were a greater part of that journey than you may think."

She studied him carefully with a tilt of her head. "I suppose. The thoughts are ridiculous, aren't they? It is just that he makes so many journeys without me, that I could not help but wonder, what it is you or other warriors have seen that I never became a proud witness to."

"Just as you've seen much that we cannot know," Legolas pointed out, "Is that not fair to say as well? He is a man with too many faces," said the Mirkwood prince, looking out over the horizon, "He seems to belong more to this land and collectively to this people than singularly to anyone else. Not even to you. We each can only have a small piece. Like the claim of a human life to time. We cannot have all, and what little we can steal we cannot keep for long, at least, not with the _edain_."

He regretted it the moment he finished it. He'd said it harsher than he meant to say it, but the words were true enough such that they meant what they meant, no matter what anyone could have intended. He also noted that traces of his own pain made their way to the surface too. His own loss, his own jealousy.

"But you should ignore me," Legolas said quickly, "My mind weighs heavily with such dark thoughts lately."

"They make your words no less true," she said quietly, "I've been warned of what you said. _Ada_ understood the impermanence and tried to impart it to me. But the heart does what it does, doesn't it?"

_It gives you life…_ Legolas thought of how an eternity of living was no life at all without loving, even for all of its pains.

_… but sometimes it kills you too…_ as it was doing to Arwen, whose life was beautiful but also fleeting with her fatal, mortal choice.

_… or leads you to kill,_ he thought of himself, and of his hungry revenge for the killing of Lilian.

_… Although it can also empower you to give life if you let it,_ Legolas decidedremembering Haldir in Rohan, remembering Estel and this love of the land, remembering Arwen and her child, thinking of himself and his impending marriage to a cursed Easterling, not so much for the sake of peace but to save the lives of those whom he loved.

"I'm afraid so," he said wistfully.

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS! Thanks to all who read and especially all who reviewed. Whew, I've been so busy lately, but I'm fervently trying not to disappoint you by overly late posts or discontinuing the story. How you find it is really very important in how the story progresses so if you've something in mind, haha, drop me a line about what you want or not want, just make sure it won't break my heart, haha. THANKS SO MUCH for taking the time and c&c's always welcome!

'TIL THE NEXT POST!


	10. Interlude 1: Words

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

_Interlude 1_

_The Fellowship of the Ring: Words_

_

* * *

_

_Up until they met in Mirkwood and thereafter the Council of Elrond, the extent of their acquaintance was that the elf had been an old friend of the House of Elrond, particularly its infamous twins Elladan and Elrohir. As an adopted child of fair Imladris, Estel's known his share of its stories, and that of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood was quite well-known, for it was a tale that was very much close to the pains of Rivendell as well._

_Estel's heard of the loss of the Lady Celebrian. He's never met her, but she was much loved, and to have raised so generous a batch of children must have meant she was a magical lady herself. It was Legolas of Mirkwood who helped get her back, it was said, after she was abducted by dark forces. _

_It was said too, that the Prince spent much of his life previous to saving her with eyes darkened by his own tragedies, particularly that of the loss of his own mother. It was no surprise then that he found his cause in keeping the same from happening to anyone else. Legolas Greenleaf, restless warrior, whose heart still ultimately belonged to a child—one who had lost his mother, one who was struggling desperately to find his peace but in the meantime, steely, determined, and hurting._

_He nearly died from aiding her, and Imladris took to him with open arms. They nursed him to health, loved him for his quiet generosity. He had shared in their triumph over her reclamation, shared in their loss when she either way sailed away._

_Elrohir__ seldom spoke of those days, that pain that was always fresh, even in just distant remembrance. But the Rivendell elf clearly perceived that to not speak of the kindness of Legolas was an injustice, though to speak of it meant too that he had to speak of the tragedy of his mother._

_Estel__ returned to Rivendell for a breath, having come from his multitude of quests about Arda. Of note was his Mirkwood stop where he had deposited his captive Gollum, and he told his twin brothers that he came across Prince Legolas, whom up until then he's only heard of around Imladris but had never seen before._

_"I was beginning to think he was a myth," said Estel._

_"Ah, he is no myth," Elrohir said, the hurtful memories streaking across his gaze as they must have surely brushed his mind. "What did you think of him?"_

_"He's very… wary," decided Estel, "But far from unkind or unfriendly. As I was bringing Gollum along, we were overwhelmed by the forces of Dol Guldur; it was why we had strayed into Mirkwood's borders. He and his soldiers aided us, and thereafter he took the ghoul off our hands, tended my wounds and had a meal with me. We got to discussing I was reared here and he seemed delighted and asked after you. He also apologized for not having been able to assist me sooner, saying their forces were too thinly spread about the territory," Estel chuckled a little, "He sounded quite disappointed with himself, one would think it was he who spared through me."_

_Elrohir__ smiled wistfully. "He sounds unchanged by the years."_

_"Indeed?" Estel asked, raising a curious eyebrow._

_"He had been grievously injured," said Elrohir without the premise Estel already knew of: Legolas had been injured in trying to save the Lady of Imladris, "And was on the mend just as it's been decided that… mother… it would be best for her to leave the Circles of the World. I sat with him in his ward, it was I who told him so. He apologized then too, for not having reached her sooner. He seemed quite genuinely unhappy for us."_

_Legolas__ had stayed in the House to heal from his wounds, and thereafter to heal from his less discernable hurts, for Rivendell offered peace to all who entered her.__ He was polite, discreet and unobtrusive. But it's also been said that Rivendell's twins managed to infuse some of their notoriety into him and he gained a mischievous streak of his own. Elrohir and Elladan, grieving sons, found strength in the Mirkwood prince, for it was much easier to find strength when one was needed by another, and there was little doubting that they were needed there._

_"He stayed awhile," said Elrohir, smiling at Estel, teasing, "But then the years grew even more unkind and he was needed in his own kingdom. We've seen little of him since, but I must say, Estel. He was the original adopted son of Imladris, brother. Not you."_

_Estel__ had given him a sour look, but begrudged Legolas nothing, especially after the Council of Elrond about a year after that conversation with Elrohir, and the Mirkwood prince's fiery defense of him._

_"This is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn," he had said to the defiant Gondorian captain, "You owe him your allegiance."_

_Apparently, the loyalties of Imladris were loyalties Legolas considered to be his own as well, little though he knew of the man personally, their only other encounter having been just that one time in Mirkwood. But that encounter, and the defense in the Council, would certainly not be the last. _

_Along the quest of the Fellowship, Aragorn would carve for himself his own place in the Mirkwood elf's heart, independent of any impersonal loyalties. This place of Aragorn's in Legolas' heart was a deep cut, for all of its good and all of its bad, and was a scar the elf would carry for the rest of his life._

* * *

_Rivendell_

_December 25, 3018_

_

* * *

_

_Four hobbits. Two men. An Istari. An elf. A dwarf._

_The Ring of Power. The Road to Mordor. _

In afterthought_, the elf mused as he readied his supplies the early morning before they set out for the quest, _It sounds like a disaster

_Of course, it was a sorry shame that he realized this only during the past few sleepless nights. It was a shame too that he grew up to always hold true to his word; during the Council one month ago, it's been given and is by now most certainly irrecoverable. It was also a shame, that he felt compelled to give that Word at all; he volunteered to aid the Council as a representative of Mirkwood, the Kingdom under whose watch Gollum had escaped. But if he was truly regretting something, he decided he might as well regret that he lived in a time plagued by evil. If he was to appoint blame, it might as well be toward Sauron. _

Which means that_, he thought with an overburdened sigh_, I really might as well _not_ regret going on a quest to stop him…

_He shook his head in dismay, irritated at his overlapping, complicated thoughts. He was unhappy that Elladan and Elrohir were not in Imladris to distract him. Or join him in this quest. Or volunteer even before he made the mistake of opening his mouth…_

_He turned his attention elsewhere. From the periphery of his hearing, he sensed quietly indignant goodbyes being made between a man and the elfin woman who loved him to her death. He recognized the voice of the Evenstar. He recognized the voice of Isildur's heir._

_"I am mortal, you are elf-kind," he was saying, "It was a dream, Arwen. Nothing more…"_

_The eavesdropper longed to shut them out. But then it was as if the pain of his sympathy for them was making him feel more alive. He remembered making his own goodbyes to his beloved months innumerable ago, in Lorien. Admittedly, Lilian was as elfin as he, and, though not quite of a comparable royal standing to his own, their situation certainly held far less problems than the ultimate tragedy of an elf loving a mortal. _

What brutal fates_, he reflected. He's always wondered who would at last capture the heart of the elusive Evenstar. And then here was an _adan_, who was lovingly making his goodbyes to her, struggling to remain strong. And then here was she, indignant. _

_In hindsight, Legolas predicted she would realize that what Aragorn was doing was out of the generosity of his love for her. But that would come later. Now there was dejection. Now there was just the simple but potent hurt of being left behind and turned away._

_"It was a gift," she said with carefully restrained anger and brutally constricted pain, "Keep it."_

_They parted thus. He walked away (Legolas heard the near-soundless shuffling of his hardy boots), and she let him. And then when she turned to leave as well, she saw the Mirkwood elf standing not too far away from them. She knew Legolas heard all that was said. He knew she knew. He felt her eyes on him, and he looked up to meet her defiant gaze, helplessly._

What would you have me do, milady_? His eyes implored her,_ I was born with the damn ears

_She walked toward him, as if clearly reading his mind. 'Legolas,' she said to him softly, achingly, 'Care for him. For me. You go where I could not. He is… of this Quest, and therefore of this Fellowship, and _of yours_… in a way that he never can be to me. We are severed. I hold no claim, no right, no place. Care for him… Restore him to me…'_

_'I will,' he said, compelled by her pain, compelled by his guilt over having been an unwitting witness to their goodbyes. She smiled at him gratefully, and she was so beautiful that for that one moment it felt as if the sun was shining._

_And then she left, and then the world dimmed, and then he realized he'd once again given his word and unfortunately sorely regretted it._

_

* * *

__The Road from Rivendell_

_December 25, 3018_

_

* * *

_

_They did not at the start have occasion to speak much. _

_The Man with the Plan walked with Gandalf the Grey toward the front, and he of the elf-kind and all the senses he was thus blessed with was tasked to stalwartly hold the rear. It was not so hard to watch the _adan_'s__ back this way, but then again, a rearguard could only do so much for a Ranger who walked leaps ahead and did not think twice about plunging himself into danger for those he sought to protect._

_Legolas watched him walk, curious at how it was that the Lady Arwen's heart was stolen by this being. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn was more and more an enigma to him. When they met in Mirkwood the years past, the _adan_ surprised him with his acute grasp of their language, and then threw in that he was raised in Rivendell. Thus came the biggest surprise of all: that Legolas was beholding the heir of Isildur. He remembered from the time he spent in Imladris how these heirs were harbored by Lord Elrond and now, it seemed that hidden behind the hardy Ranger was a King. And then just this morning, Aragorn stunned him once again by not only capturing the Evenstar's heart, but also by rebuffing her!_

_The Ranger was walking at an easy pace, though his eyes were keen and his ears were attentive. Once in awhile, he'd absently snatch up a fallen fruit of some sort and coolly toss it behind him, knowing for sure that one of the perpetually hungry young hobbits traveling behind him would clamor for it._

_Peregrin Took, victor of the tossed fruit for the nth time, laughed triumphantly as he raised the fruit up to the air like a trophy... from which point Bormir of Gondor divested the stunned hobbit of his prize._

_"Boromir!" the hobbit exclaimed disapprovingly, apparently considering the use of the advantage of height and bulk against a poor littler hobbit as an affront._

_"Believe me, Master Took," said Boromir as he took a healthy bite off the apple, "I save you from yourself only. How fast can you run from our considerable foes, eating a bushel of these things?"_

_"If Strider didn't think I could run fast enough," retorted the fiery hobbit, "He'd stop tossing it my way, won't he?"_

_"That's 'cos you're not supposed to get it each and every time, Pip," said Merry._

_"If I get it each and every time," said Pippin impishly, "Then that must mean I'm not slowing down at all, don't you think?"_

_The hobbits turned to the fairly outwitted Boromir expectantly. Except, of course, it was too late for the apple was all but gone by then. He smiled at Peregrin guiltily, although of course, he did not quite feel as bad as all that._

_"I apologize, Master Took," said he, "In exchange for my transgressions, I believe I can teach you a thing or two about sword fighting. Put that speed of yours to better use, eh?"_

* * *

_The hobbits and the Gondorian did not find much time with their footwork, for the time they had tried during a rest stop, the exercise was rather pointedly interrupted by the spies of Saruman, hovering menacingly over their heads. The encounter changed the preferred route of the Company and brought them to cruel Cardhras._

_The road was long, and still they did not find much occasion to speak. The elf still held the _adan_ with curiosity and mystery unanswered._

_It was strategically sound that the elf, the hardy ranger, the sturdy dwarf and the Gondorian soldier should be spread out across the length of the Nine Walkers for the purpose of the safety of all. Gandalf the Grey of course took point, for it was he who best knew the way. They've established a bit of a routine when it came to walking._

_From the rearguard, the closer they came _toward_ danger, it seemed more and more that the elf for all of his god-given senses should stay at point with the wizard-guide, as a scout. Peregrin Took lingered by them for it seemed that the long road was made infinitely more bearable by infuriating somebody else, and the fiery hobbit had taken to targeting the wizard. Which meant too that Meriadoc lingered by that front end as well, for the young hobbit had the mistaken notion that it was he who kept Peregrin in check- fair to say, a lot of the time, but occasionally, the presence of Merry compounded Pippin's troublemaking too. Right behind them walked Gimli the Dwarf, who found _some_ distance with the elf highly preferable, but not wanting to be too far either, for Legolas' company was proving very invigorating to him._

_"Why do dwarves feel the need to be so bothersome?" the elf lamented, "Master Dwarf, I implore you. Stay at the rear where you will be less of a hindrance to me and my duties."_

_"You speak as if it was only _I_ seeking the repartee," retorted the Dwarf, "Now I will say this only because you won't Elf, and it is a given fact that my folk is far more comprehensible and far less cagey than yours: The road is too long, and I need to stay on my toes. Your sharp tongue is of some use to someone after all."_

_The dwarf, of course, stalwartly held his ground and, the elf already having expressly stated his objections, was by now more than ever determined to stay there and defy him._

_The Gondorian captain followed with far less of the politics, not so concerned was he with who he walked with because he was generally easy to speak to about most things. Samwise walked behind Boromir, refusing to leave the side of Frodo, who was in turn gravitating to Strider at the rear, in whom he found security and comfort._

_And so it was once again that the elfin scout found seven heads between himself and the man the Evenstar loved, and once more, he was leaps away from any protection the elf could offer him._

My word to you is so hard to redeem, Arwen_, he reflected, not knowing the road ahead would make it near to impossible._

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS!

Thanks so much for reading and especially to those who reviewed. You guys keep me going :)

So this chapter gives us the first of a series of flashbacks held as gap fillers during the War of the Ring. All the flashbacks will be giving you an idea of precisely what happened between Aragorn and Legolas.

To zerah: Aragorn's reaction to finding out about the conditions of the treaty (the wedding, that is) is on the next chapter which I'll be posting alongside this chapter :) Oh! And yes, Legolas knows about how he feels. You'll see why in the next few chapters :) And the thing with Arwen saying she is jealous is very much a literary tool. She was saying it maybe casually, maybe with some weight. Legolas doesn't know, but the medium being the message, we all assume the heavier meaning, just as Legolas' guilt makes him do the same.

To sesshyangel: No, I'm not worried about idea thieves, haha. I suppose I'll be mightily frustrated if that should happen but generally, I trust people I guess :) So. Why Aragorn? I picked him because the slash angle is new enough to me as it is, so I decided to take it slowly and gradually and start indeed with the "logical pick" as you said Aragorn was. As for the slash angle, it's going to be very subtle. It won't be said outright, and most of it will be in the past; it's why I'm putting in these flashback/interludes. You will see some in the future, but the postulate, the assumption ALWAYS in this story is, right from the beginning, they had no chance of being together.

To Nessa Ar-Feiniel: Nadina's son will not be seen until part 2. Note that all the chapters of this story I've shown so far are labeled "Part One: Those Lost." This story is cut up not only by chapters, but by chapters within parts too :)

To AM: all the stuff that other people don't know about Aragorn or Legolas fall within the flashbacks/interlude parts. Much is known about the two, but not that they once had something other than friendship between them. that was what was being alluded to.

Once again, THANKS ALL and 'til the next post!


	11. He Did Not Say

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

Chapter Ten: He Never Said

The Rohan Front

* * *

Eomer of Rohan, King of the land of the Horse Masters, knew full well the sounds of hooves on ground, even from a distance. It matched the anxious beating of his heart. Long before his aide rushed toward his makeshift quarters to announce the arrival of Elessar, he was already out the door and headed toward the edges of the camp, eager for the King of Gondor's company. His men shared his cheer as they greeted Elessar with irreverent aplomb and warm welcome. The men were eager to return home and end this warring and were thrilled by the prospect of its nearness, by virtue of Elessar's arrival and the drafting of a treaty.

Eomer barely restrained a jovial hoot himself- diplomacy was a mad man's calling, he mused. And decided that it therefore must be more up Aragorn's alley, then.

"King Eomer," Aragorn greeted him with a reverent bow that he followed up with a murderous embrace. "I am very, very happy to see you well."

"Old friend," Eomer said, pulling away from Aragorn and looking at the entourage behind him. Of course Gimli the Dwarf was looking at him with that devilish grin, and Legolas' right-hand man was looking as impervious as ever.

"Horse-Master," greeted Gimli, "You look well."

"And you, Master Dwarf," said Eomer, "Legolas brought you here with all speed, for which I am thankful." He nodded toward Mikael. "I suppose since you are here, our elfin prince must be as well?"

"It's a shame he couldn't join us," said Aragorn, "The running of two kingdoms is taking a toll on him, especially in times of war. He needed to see to Ithilien, which he had long left in the hands of able Faramir and his own elfin lords."

"Well he'd have to live with it, I suppose," said Eomer wryly, "Especially since those kingdoms he runs will soon be rising up to three."

Aragorn's brows furrowed. "Three?"

"Has Legolas not explained the situation to you?" Eomer asked, growing a bit worried, especially since Aragorn was so jovial and, given the situation, he really shouldn't be…

_Why are you so happy?_ Eomer wondered, feeling a bit of dread.

"Ah, yes," Aragorn replied, his face beaming again, "He had. He told me of the fall of the northern opposition, and the surrender of Nathaniel and his army, and the possibility of a treaty with a well-connected King."

"That was all he said?" asked Eomer flatly.

"Of course I did not expect every single detail to be fleshed out," said Aragorn, "He is a messenger, has been for age after age. He knows to say what needs saying at the time. I am here, and this is the time and place for the nuances."

"Nuances?" laughed Eomer mirthlessly, "Oh dear gods."

The King of Rohan was very heavily annoyed. He was so annoyed he didn't know what to do with his ire short of taking a breath and simply sighing. It was beyond words, beyond the effort of raging and ranting.

"Your princely messenger," he said to Mikael through grit teeth, "Should consider a change in profession."

* * *

In the privacy of the King of Rohan's tent, Eomer apprised Elessar and Gimli the Dwarf of the events of the days past. Over tea and a warm light, they discovered that the victory of the Northern front was not as simple as it sounded. The commanders of the Easterlings surrendered already, and still Legolas killed them. And when Nathaniel surrendered to Eomer, Legolas tried to kill him too. And then, of course, was that little matter of sealing a peace treaty through the marriage of Legolas of Mirkwood to Nadina of the Sang-age.

The light of Elessar's previous joy had long since vanished by now, as he ran his hands wearily over his face. "Oh dear gods," he said as well, unwittingly echoing Eomer's helpless lament from hours before.

"Don't I know it," muttered Eomer, wishing his aide had served them ale instead of tea. He hated Legolas at the moment, for making him the one to have to say all of these things. And then he decided he hated Aragorn and Gimli too, for their silence was going to force him to be the one to say other dreaded things too:

"These are war crimes, Elessar," Eomer said flatly, reigning in his temper, "And you are well-aware of it."

"He must have his reasons," Aragorn pointed out, even though he knew the futility of it, the uselessness of his argument.

"Everyone does," Eomer snapped, "It does not change the outcome. Many men have and could have died and can still die because of his apparent bloodlusting. I know not his reasons and I care far less to discover them than to halt his actions or repair them. If he were punished it will be simply what is just. And all at once I know for a certainty that Legolas is the son of the elfin king, the lord of a colony, a rather popular war hero, not to mention a dear friend of yours and mine and he will therefore not be touched."

"What are you proposing?" Gimli asked at a low growl. He was torn over ringing Eomer's neck for the slander or Legolas's for his actions.

"The way I see it," said Eomer, "And I've been giving this much thought, much diplomatic consideration. There are two ways that we can go about this. We want a treaty with the Easterlings, that is the end goal, am I correct?"

Aragorn nodded. "It is."

"Toward this treaty, " said Eomer, "We have to be able to gain their trust and their confidence, and show them our good will, not to mention our desire for a lasting bond. King Nathaniel proposes we seal the treaty with marriage, as is their tradition. They understand tenacity, and cunning, and victory in battle. They do not like Legolas, but they do not have to. He was their victor, and a warring race will readily embrace his displayed viciousness.

"But," said Eomer, with more difficulty, "they also understand blood. They understand justice. They know about Legolas' transgressions. The gods know he certainly did not bother with hiding his profound disdain for them. The way I see it, either Legolas seals the treaty by marrying Nadina, or he seals the treaty by accepting punishment for his crimes."

The dwarf's eyes raged and he opened his formidable mouth to argue, his stout, loyal heart unwilling to believe what he was hearing. But Aragorn pressed a hand to his shoulder, and nodded for Eomer to continue.

"If we punish him for his crimes," said Eomer, "We show the Easterlings our desire to be fair to them, even at the cost of not only punishing one of our own, but a known War hero too. And stay your arguments, Master Dwarf I do not speak of execution or a sound lashing or some such thing. Something more… acceptable. You know that he is a friend to me, and a hero to my country as well."

Aragorn winced. Legolas unknowingly sparked a diplomatic nightmare. Everything that Eomer said was true— either Legolas married Nadina, or some form of justice had to be done. The order of a society was partly founded on the promotion of the good and the punishing of the bad, and the two options Eomer proposed embodied both: the promotion of the good through a wedding, or the punishing of the bad through… whatever kind of punishment they could think of that was 'acceptable.' Yet to punish Legolas was… _unimaginable_, to say the least, with consequences that would undoubtedly cost Elessar valuable elfin allies and Aragorn an irreplaceable friend. But to _not_ punish him left nothing but the option of marriage, which Aragorn could not find the heart to force Legolas to do either. The two kings mulled the grave situation.

"Personally," Aragorn sighed, "I want to wring his neck."

Eomer was not in the mood for kidding. He glared at Aragorn. "Then why don't you, for the both of us?"

Aragorn set his jaw in irritation, wisely biting his tongue until he could recover his calm. Eomer was justly angry, he told himself.

"You know I prefer the option of marriage," Aragorn said, "given the alternative. But must it be Legolas?"

Eomer pondered the question. "He may have to be," he replied with a wince, "first, because their custom dictates that 'to the victor go the spoils—' including the wife of the deceased. Secondly, marriages seal alliances because it guarantees that both sides have something valuable at risk should any party not hold to the agreements made. Like a daughter, a son, a brother, a sister… And of these you have none to offer. But Legolas, who was often seen at your side, is as close to a brother as you can get, not to mention a renowned warrior. They will definitely see him as invaluable to you and therefore, worthy of their royal Easterling woman."

"I do have brothers," Aragorn pointed out.

"Elves and therefore unarguably not blood-brothers," Eomer reasoned, "And not seen as much by your side. It would have to be Legolas, unless you plan on offering them the dwarf."

Aragorn managed a smile at the thought.

"Naturally," said Eomer, "I myself would make for a viable candidate in this marriage alliance, but I cannot volunteer for I am elsewhere promised—engaged, as you know. I am certainly not volunteering my sister to wed some warrior or royal of theirs, for if she does not strike me down with her ire, your faithful steward-captain would. And I do not think you have the heart to make this a duty of Faramir's. There is none other who could accept this task but Legolas. A good deal if I may say so, it being that his crimes have actually garnered for him a beautiful wife and a kingdom."

"He does not need or desire another kingdom," Aragorn sighed, "He has enough of his own. He does not seek land and riches, he does not seek the love of an Easterling woman and he certainly does not seem to desire absolution for his errors."

"What does he want?" Eomer's eyes narrowed in irritation.

"He is betrothed himself," said Aragorn quietly, "To an elf maiden of Lorien, by the name of Lilian. He has been since before the War of the Ring. He's been betrothed long before any of us, and he loves her dearly. It cannot be him given to the Easterlings in marriage. We cannot ask it of him. I cannot ask him to give her up."

_And the gods know I've once certainly tried_, Elessar decided not to add, although his embattled mind certainly and helplessly immediately thought of it.

Eomer stared at him for a long moment. "You are certain of this betrothal?"

"Absolutely," replied Elessar, "I know it for a fact."

"He did not say this to me," Eomer said quietly, "When I was imploring him to make up for his actions by wedding the Easterling woman."

"What did he say?" asked Aragorn.

Eomer's brows furrowed. "He said he cannot wed an Easterling for all that they've stolen from him. I know not of what he speaks, what it was that was stolen such that it arouses such rage from him. He could have simply told me he was betrothed and I'd have let it go.

"Either way…" continued Eomer, "Without marriage then we are left with but one option. Legolas fought for Rohan valiantly during the war and with this in mind I find it hard to not only punish him, but to even _conceive_ that he is capable of all the madness he's lately displayed. But I cannot deny me my eyes. He saved us _then_ but he cost us now. He deserved his heroism _then_, just as his deeds deserve punishment _now_. I am prepared to turn a blind eye in favor of his part in the marriage, but if he still adamantly refuses… there has to be punishment of some sort. Maybe… maybe exile. Perhaps… perhaps to _ban_ him from Rohan, or the East, or any human settlement. On these lands he cannot ever cross. We must show the Esterlings that he has wronged, and he will pay. This is a punishment that is most lenient, you must admit. Our lands are few and his elfin ones are far grander. It should not cripple him at all."

Aragorn rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Again, the King of Rohan's words rang true, at least, to the extent that Eomer was being more than fair. But that latter part, about the punishment being lenient was an outright lie. The exile will break the elf's heart. He loved this land, shed blood for its people. To be _exiled_ from any span of it, no matter how small, was almost to deny him all that he had fought for. But then again, the marriage would hurt him too. However, Elessar felt that they were still missing a piece of this puzzle.

Legolas was apparently insanely angry at the Easterlings for taking 'something' from him, but he wouldn't say what. And he also kept his betrothal a secret from Eomer, when it could have indeed been so simple to say that he cannot wed Nadina because he was set to marry someone else. Maybe… maybe… Aragorn's heart pounded furiously in his chest. Maybe these two things that Legolas left unsaid- what was stolen, and that he was betrothed- was one and the same.

_They stole Lilian away from him_… Aragorn feared.

"I need Mikael," Elessar said, "Legolas' guard. The elf I came with. I need him."

Eomer ordered the aide who stood guard outside his tent to fetch the old elf, and stared down at Elessar worriedly. The King of Rohan did not push him into saying what was on his mind; it will come in due time.

_Oh dear gods_, Aragorn thought, thinking back to what Legolas had said to him at the war front in Gondor,

_"About this treaty business.__ If you asked me to, I will. I can't pretend it won't be difficult but just ask it of me. Just give me some time, but I will do it if you ask it of me…"_

"He will wed the girl, I believe," Aragorn said at last, breathless, just as Mikael stepped into the tent.

"My lords?" the elf inquired of them quietly.

"Whatever happened to Lilian of Lorien, Master Elf?" Aragorn asked him, deciding not to mince words, "Speak plainly, I implore you."

Mikael's jaws tightened. He was caught between Elessar's stare, and the formidable princely will of Legolas. It was like being squeezed between two rocks. But his love and loyalty for Legolas also demanded to do what was right for his Prince, not just to follow whatever he wanted.

"Lilian of Lorien is dead," Mikael said to them in a flat tone, "She died during the War of the Ring."

_"About this treaty business.__ If you asked me to, I will. I can't pretend it won't be difficult but just ask it of me. Just give me some time, but I will do it if you ask it of me…"_

"At the hands of the Easterlings?" asked Eomer.

"Yes," replied Mikael, "Yes."

"Dear gods," breathed Aragorn, "He never said… He never said so."

"It was never his way to speak of such things," mumbled Gimli, "_I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near_."

"We need to speak face to face," said Aragorn. "I will leave now. But I need fresh horses."

"I will go with you," offered the Dwarf.

"Stay here, Gimli," Aragorn implored him, "I ride faster with a smaller entourage of more experienced horsemen."

"_I_ will ride with you," Mikael said, booking no arguments. He'd defied Legolas by divulging his secret, he might as well follow one order, and that was to stay by Elessar's side.

To be continued…


	12. Interlude 2: A Light at the End

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King- the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**

* * *

****PART ONE: Those Lost**

_Interlude 2_

_The Fellowship of the Ring: A Light at the End_

_Moria_

_January 13, 3019_

_

* * *

_

The Long Dark of Moria_ indeed it was. One traversed it silently, cautiously, perpetually fearfully, armed with courage powered by nothing but a fervent, desperate hope of light at its end._

As in this Quest_, Strider reflected, _As in all things in life. _One could only hope for light at the end…_

_Light at the end, of course, still inextricably meant they were in darkness now. _Unfortunately.

_He did not like Moria. He did not like the feeling of the nakedness and vulnerability of his back, of eyes in the dark which may or may not be watching, of ears that may or may not hear every echo of his breath and his beating heart, of this pregnant darkness with secret tenants. Grown men and wizards and elves feared the dark of Moria and of her deeper, blacker secrets. Ghosts of her turbulent past, monsters of her present. But grown men and wizards and elves too, firmly understood that their hobbit companions desperately needed their assurance of courage more than they needed to voice their own fears. And so they remained silent, and appeared unafraid._

_The Istar headed the group as they proceeded forward. The collapse of the West Gate gave them no choice but to traverse the seemingly infinite blackness, this single road that was left to them. He knew the route best, and navigated by the quiet light of his staff. The hobbits gravitated to this light, and it was easy to believe that perhaps they've never seen such inky, encompassing black as the dark of Moria that now assaulted them from all ends._

_"We can get lost here forever," Meriadoc mused softly._

_Boromir of Gondor and Gimli the Dwarf permeated their huddle, and so it was that for the first time since the Quest began nearly a month ago, Aragorn found himself walking beside the silent, dimly glowing elven soldier Legolas for a short moment._

_The elf spent some of his fine arrows defending the Company from the rear when they were assaulted by the foul beast guarding the lake of the West Gate. Man and elf stood side by side as the Company ran past them and into the mines, and they were the last into the relative "safety" of Moria when the gate collapsed and shielded them from all the light of the moon and all the air from the world outside._

_It was not a very fine feeling, being thus entombed. The sentiment was shared by the elven Prince who walked with him._

_'I do not much like the dark,' he said in his native tongue._

_'I am unsurprised,' said Strider with a grinning grimace, a humor that shone even in the direst straits, 'You cannot even bear to close those eyes in the dark peace of sleep.'_

_Legolas smiled tightly. 'Ah, yes. Indeed.'_

_'Funny habit,' mused Strider, 'Growing up in Rivendell, and seeing everyone asleep with their eyes open, I always believed I slept with eyes open too.'_

_The elf chuckled. 'That is understandable.'_

_"Only an elf can find joy in this misery," mumbled Gimli to Boromir, having heard Legolas chuckle from where he was._

_"Only a dwarf can stomach being constantly a bothersome and unwelcome eavesdropper," Legolas retorted._

_"Good ears," Gimli muttered to the Gondorian in a lower tone._

_"The best," Legolas said smugly, showing off that he could still hear the quieter voice. _

_'You're both insane,' Strider concluded with eyes that shone even in the dark of the mines._

_Legolas decided he should be fairly annoyed, but the smile was disarming, and the light in his eyes was warming, especially in this dank hole. Instead of a retort the _adan_ may have deserved, the elf smiled back, and shook his head in amusement and disbelief at them both._

* * *

_Of course, along the length of their journey into Moria, nothing was funny anymore. The dwarf had lost a dear cousin and had to wade through the hideous massacre of many of his kin. The elf did not have to like him to feel the pang of his anger and his broken heart. He knew loss, by the gods, he understood these things all to well, much more than he wanted. The wails of the dwarf assaulted his senses, the crime that was committed so gleefully within these walls was an affront to all that was good in the world. Legolas felt Gimli's anger as if it was his own. It was a sentiment shared by the entire Company._

_But there was much more to lose and much, much more to regret- people closer to home. The Bridge had loomed nearer, and then a spark of hope was lit in their weary, battling hearts- the thought of escape, of safety, of _release_ from the clutches of the eternal starless night of Moria. And then the wizard fell in his defense of the Company. And then they who survived burst out into the sunlight of freedom, yet even then there was no warmth, for they have lost one of their own._

_More and more it was difficult to understand this world, it seemed. Suddenly there were dead wizards, and elves faced with brutal mortality, and hobbits who learned to cry. There was almost no comfort in their release from the mines. Their tears stained the rocky ground, their sobs hovered over the air, and lingered, and stabbed._

_The elf was drowning in these senses. There was so much to see, and hear, and none of them lent comfort. Only grief. Only helplessness. Gandalf was an old friend, perhaps Legolas had known the Istari the longest, amongst all of them in the Fellowship, by virtue of his uncountable elven years. His own grief was hard enough to fathom, and he was still further burdened by the grief of others. He turned his head away from the Fellowship, not wanting to be unmasked yes, but also not wanting to see or hear any more. _

_Boromir__ of Gondor, used to loss it seemed, sat on the ground and caught his breath from their mad running. He was saddened, his hardy eyes were thus weighed, but he was, as always, unhindered. He watched grief unfold before him. The hobbits were weary and world-weary. It seemed almost a crime to tear them from the innocence of the lives they've led before this War. They looked like children. They looked misplaced._

Let them cry_, he thought, _their world just changed

_All men must face up to the reality of the rest of the world. All men had to share in its pain some time. He saw the weary eyes of young soldiers, and boys taken from their mothers and pressed into fatal service for their desperate lands. He's seen the same tiredness in them. This brutal awakening to the evils of the world was as true for human children as they were for hobbits, especially with all these wars that raged around them. It was not surprising, but it was no less unfortunate._

_Yet another pair of eyes looked upon the sad scene with as much wistfulness, but let his sight not be hindered by the moment's pains. There were things to do. There were always things to do. Strider surveyed the Company with a critical eye. Most had taken to the ground in exhaustion of body and spirit. Only he, Frodo and the elf kept standing. Perhaps, because he was looking upon Legolas' turned back and therefore could not see what must have been his lonely face, it was easier to be detached from his sympathy for the elf, easier to order him into action._

_"Legolas," he said sharply, "Get them up."_

* * *

_Lothlorien_

_January 18, 3019_

_

* * *

_

_Though Legolas once spent a lot of time beneath these woods and was often treated as its child, rather than a stranger, he found that the Golden Wood without Lilian felt less of a home and more of a… a… _pit stop_, he supposed._

Or perhaps I am changed_, he mused, _I've lived all these ages, and barely a month's journey- a sigh, a blink of an eye- had already altered my heart

_It did not make any sense, but then there it was. The Wood gave security, yes, but not quite comfort. The road ahead of them was yet long, and though his heart and body begged for rest, his mind flew off toward Mordor, toward all the things that still needed doing. And the times it wasn't looking toward the bleakness of the future, it was plagued by the darkness of the most recent past._

Mithrandir_, he thought achingly, _By the gods… who will fall next?

_And it was so difficult to believe that none else would. The road was long, and it was pitch black. Someone's death was a certainty. It might even be his own, but then again in a way, that was a comfort too. He feared losing newfound friends more. The pain was powerful. The finality of death was always burdensome to an elf. He needed…_

I need to hear her laugh_, he decided._

_The very breath he'd had in private with their Marchwarden, he'd inquired of Lilian. But Haldir said she left for Mirkwood long ago. _

_Legolas winced. 'To see me. The formal betrothal ceremonies are scheduled in a month. I suppose none of us foresaw my place in this Road. I was but a messenger, suddenly compelled by duty to uphold the standard of my kingdom in this Quest of ours. She will be _profoundly_ displeased.'_

_Haldir smiled tightly. 'Surely not with the delay. Only with your volunteerism toward the dangerous. Again. I've heard her say it is what she loves and loathes about you. That indiscriminate honor.'_

_He smiled too. The woman was headstrong, there was no mistaking it, and he knew he'd have his fill of her scolding when next they see each other._

_'You smile,' Haldir observed, sounding satisfied, 'Take comfort in the thoughts of her, my prince. Let it strengthen your heart.' _

_Legolas left the Marchwarden to his duties, and was seeking his own Company when the first strings of a beautiful tune in lament of an old friend arrested him, making his steps more absent and aimless._

_"A lament for Gandalf," he murmured to himself._

_"What do they say about him?" said a quiet voice from somewhere behind. Legolas found it was Merry._

_"I have not the heart to tell you," he replied quietly, "For me the grief is still too near."_

* * *

_The elf walked about beneath the Golden trees, the paths permeated by the memories of the one he loved, she who had gone. He could hear her laughter, smell the scent of lily water that seemed to trail her everywhere. He remembered her busy hands, how, whenever they walked together, her fingers would graze the trunks of the trees gently, where they lingered as if she was greeting the shoulders of old friends._

_The elf closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Her memory was always a comfort to him. Even the memory of their goodbye. The last time they saw each other, he had brought the Lady Galadriel a message from his father. He was making his farewell to her as they walked about aimlessly, fingers entwined as if they would never let go._

_'Remember,' he said to her fervently, 'Mirkwood in a year. Take a party with you, but I have arranged for your escort as well. My father already informed the Lady Galadriel, and I myself have spoken with her. The times are dark, but I will not have you torn from me. When we are betrothed in front of all my kingdom then, you won't change your mind about wedding me.'_

_'Oh won't I?' she asked, eyes alight. Her voice was musical._

_'No,' he said with a laugh, 'You won't.'_

_'Why not?' she asked him impishly._

_'Because you love me too much to embarrass me,' he replied._

_'No,' she said, laughing as well, her valiant attempt at a straight face failing, 'I love you enough to embarrass you, prince ling. You are too thick-headed. You need to be knocked down a peg. Or two. For your own good.'_

_They had unknowingly drifted up toward Cerin Amroth. The elanor and nephredil were thickening around him. He had to leave, his duties were pressing, and he was going to say so here._

_'Oh no,' she said, stopping cold in her tracks. She sensed he would soon drift from her. In all the times they said goodbye to each other for his journeys, they would walk deep into the woods, away from the stables, away from where he was supposed to begin his road absent from her. She did not like the watch of his quick retreat on horseback. The departure was too quick, too cruel. He in turn did not like seeing her pain over the brutal severance. And so they often took to the deep woods and simply walked away from each other._

_'What's wrong?' he asked, gently._

_They reached the foot of a hill. 'I refuse to bid you goodbye here,' she said with a nervous laugh, taking his arm and steering him away. 'Cerin Amroth. Hill of the most beautiful sort of sorrow. Setting of pledges of undying affection, final goodbyes and tragic star-crossed lovers. I will not bid you goodbye here.'_

_He was young, and defiant. Innocent of the cruel, piteous handouts of the future. 'We will make our own history.' He had said. _

_She smiled. It was indulgent, and highly feminine in the sense that she might have thought the man before him was foolish and mad, and still let him do as he wanted._

_'I will love you for ever,' she said to him, softly, like a gentle breeze. It enveloped him as the wind did, as every breath that kept him alive did._

_

* * *

_

_Legolas' feet led him to the same hill of his memories, and he was surprised to find he was not alone there, and not alone either in the remembrance of lost loves._

_Aragorn son of Arathorn was there, sitting upon the hill, thinking of his own pledge to Arwen long ago. He blinked in surprise at the appearance of the elven prince hiking up the slight incline._

_"I've intruded," Legolas said quietly, smiling slightly, as he made to step away, "I apologize. I suppose I should have sensed you were near and diverted from this path, but my mind was adrift."_

_"'Tis not my hill to lay claim on," Aragorn said to him, smiling back, "And the company is a… a welcome distraction."_

_Legolas' brows furrowed at the sight of the slight wrinkle to the _adan_'s__ forehead. He remembered suddenly that Arwen stayed long with her kin in Lorien. _

Hill of the most beautiful sort of sorrow indeed_, he guessed._

_"Interesting history this hill owns," Legolas commented, a bit of at a loss as to what to say._

_"Certainly," Aragorn said with a bit of a wince._

_"Yours too, I wager," Legolas said, before he could stop himself._

_Aragorn's brows rose. "Yes."_

_Legolas looked at the man grimly, appreciating the honesty if not the sadness of its truth. The silence stretched, but both seemed reluctant to leave. Legolas looked glumly out toward the depth of the woods. _

_"Our road is still so long," the elf mused, "How long must we linger here?"_

_"Time is of the essence," Aragorn agreed, "But our fellows must recover their strength, and more importantly, their heart. This was never a mission of brute force, it's more a mission of will. These woods soothe the spirit. Not all of us are as hardy as you, _mellon-nin_."_

_"I did not claim this was so," Legolas said evenly, sighing, "I suppose we all deal with work differently. I want to get it over with quickly. I despise waiting."_

_"Then take rest here instead," Aragorn advised._

_"I cannot rest when my mind is on all the things we are yet to do," Legolas replied, "A long, long road. I despise waiting. There is so much to do."_

_"As you've repeatedly mentioned," Aragorn smirked slightly, amused._

_Legolas shook his head in dismay, before deciding to plop down next to the Ranger. Aragorn realized that it was one of the few times along the length of their journey this past month that he had even seen the elf sit down. The idea was a marvel. He grew up with elves, he'd always known they were strong. But he's never seen one quite as tireless as the Mirkwood prince he held before him._

_"What?" Legolas asked, looking bewildered by the man's stare._

_"You do not stop and sit down much," Aragorn replied, "I suppose the frequent and lengthy stops we've had thus far can be infuriating for one like you."_

_Legolas shrugged, shifted to a more comfortable position. "This is indeed the first time I travel with beings other than elves. Men, and dwarves and hobbits." He hesitated, "You are all very funny."_

_Aragorn barked a laugh in surprise. "That is… an interesting word."_

_"Hobbits seem to like talking," Legolas commented, "They like talking so much that they waste a breath and bother saying they are breathless."_

_Aragorn chuckled._

_"Our Ringbearer seems to be the exception," Legolas added, "I wonder if it is the burden of the Ring that silences him, or perhaps a natural calm."_

_"It is both," Aragorn guessed, nodding for Legolas to continue, "Your elven eyes see much, my friend. They are as keen toward the distance as they are toward what is near."_

_"The dwarf," Legolas said, "The dwarf…"_

_"Where do you begin, eh?" Aragorn teased._

_"He loves, much," Legolas winced, "His rocks, his caves, his kin. His friends. And he hates with equal strength and certainly more voice."_

_"Hate?" asked Aragorn, curious._

_"His foes," Legolas replied, "The _Yrchs_, Sauron, my kin. Me."_

_"He does not hate you," Aragorn chuckled, "It is all inherited dislike, from a history none can even remember."_

_"Yes, well," Legolas sounded unconvinced, "It is either way very palpable to me. But I care not. The dislike hardly goes just one way. It is a dispassion that I share too."_

_"Oh is it?" Aragorn murmured._

_Legolas shrugged. "You men are the strangest folk of them all."_

_"Why is that?" asked Aragorn._

_"Your distrust of each other is… is… an abomination," Legolas replied, "The dwarf hates me because his kin hate the elves. I share the same dislike against him for the same reason. The hobbits stick together and are not particularly geared toward anything else other than superficial conflict. Do you see something here? Internal peace. But men… in what I have seen of Boromir and you at the onset… and of what this world had shown to us of Easterlings, and the Men of the West… you seem very fragmented."_

_Aragorn smiled at the elf, quite sadly. "This is true. To our great misfortune. And possibly to our ultimate demise."_

_Legolas hesitated a little, before saying, "You're inheriting the problems of the world, Elessar."_

_"It is just Aragorn, for now," the man said with a wince, "dear friend. We see through _living_ past this darkness first, and then we'll see about mending the rest of the world. In the meantime," he smiled again with the light of some mischief, "I suggest we begin the mend of the world right here in this Fellowship."_

_"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, suspicious._

_Aragorn just shrugged at him, rose to his feet and dusted off his pants, and then walked away._

* * *

_Some days later, Legolas of Mirkwood had left Lorien in a boat he shared with a dwarf. Aragorn handed out riding assignments with a straight face, and pointing out quite logically that with elf and dwarf in the same boat, and each man had two hobbits with them, the weight was quite evenly distributed amongst them. The sailing skills were evenly distributed about the company as well. _

_The dwarf had released a compulsory, though curiously very half-baked protest. He even let the elf assist him into the craft. The suspicious Mirkwood prince was sensing a surprise attack. Maybe it was a prank. But then again… maybe it wasn't._

_The stubborn dwarf had met the Lady Galadriel, and seemed to have changed his mind about the elves._

_Aragorn, bearing Frodo and Samwise with him on the boat, sailed alongside Legolas and Gimli. The elf looked at the man, smirking for Legolas now understood what the man had known days ago. Aragorn blinked at him innocently, but there was a light in his eye as he sped up a little, and sailed past the elf and the dwarf._

_Legolas laughed softly to himself, and let the man have his petty little victory. He had, after all, been 'ahead' of Legolas in more ways than one anyway. The dwarf, unsurprisingly, did not notice. He was quite occupied by his memories of the Golden Wood._

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS! 

Thanks so much to all who read and especially to all who reviewed. I'm just about done with Part 1 of this fic and am working on Part 2 already. I'm also hard at work on **For Every Evil 2**, so for those of you who are looking forward to that, WATCH OUT haha, it'll be coming out in a few months, likely as a preview at the end of "Love, War" along with the author's afterword, as per my usual style :)

Ok, just some replies:

To zerah: I do plan my stories, haha. I like the round feeling, so I do indeed plan it a lot. I'm glad the effort comes through :) thank you very much for your attentiveness :)

To orlandochick05: actually, haha, I know what you mean. Remember in the previous chapters, Legolas said that in a few years, 'they're all dead to me anyway' so yes, he thought that what the heck, how long could they live, what's a few years? I guess we're both very practical thinkers haha :)

So there :) THANKS THANKS SO MUCH GUYS! You really really keep this fic alive for me (especially since I often get so distracted by other avenues; I read reviews over to encourage myself haha). 'TIL THE NEXT POST- a confrontation between old friends!


	13. No One of Them

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

Chapter Eleven: No One of Them

Minas Tirith

* * *

He was so occupied by the ceiling of stars that stretched out over his head, and their power to turn his thoughts and pains into nothing, that he did not realize he had company until Elrohir's warm hand was pressed upon his shoulder.

He jumped a bit, caught himself and then whipped to face his old friend. "Elrohir," Legolas said under his breath, "You shouldn't be sneaking up on people like that."

"And instincts of warriors should never rest," Elrohir chided him gently.

"Yes, well," Legolas retorted, "You also have to take it into context. I feel very safe here."

"Did Elladan and I teach you nothing?" asked Elrohir, pretending offense, "Even the safest places, naughty people could still play tricks on you."

Legolas smiled at him wryly. "Did you not grow any mature with age? I wasn't expecting tricks from you anymore."

"Fair to say," Elrohir conceded with a frown, after a moment of thought.

"Ah!" said Legolas triumphantly, "I see some signs of maturity after all. An almost graceful acceptance of defeat."

"Not defeat," laughed Elrohir, "_Never_ a defeat. I'm merely regrouping."

They lapsed into comfortable silence, both turning toward the sight of the stars. Legolas' usual room in the King's home had a balcony that looked out over the expanse of the territory. Even past the mountains, out toward the sight of the once-dreaded Mordor.

"It no longer holds so much menace," Legolas murmured, and Elrohir knew at once what it was he was referring to.

Elrohir's eyes drifted toward that now-barren, once-forbidden land. "But it still lies empty. Evil pasts have the ill habit of lingering."

"Good pasts too," Legolas said, wistful.

"Fair of you to say," breathed Elrohir.

"So," said Legolas, "What are your immediate plans, old friend?"

Elrohir shrugged. "Our people are diminishing, the demands of our realm not quite so great. I can move about as I please, it is but a matter of deciding what I want. How fares Mirkwood's populations by the way?"

"Still strong," Legolas replied, "We were never one amongst those who desired to leave."

"But you've had sight of the sea, yourself," Elrohir pointed out, "Known its call, been awakened by the ultimate fate of your kin. Where does that leave you, prince ling?"

"Miserable," Legolas said with a sad chuckle, "But it is bearable too. My people, who've not had taste of the sea as I have, need me here as my father's heir."

"The answer to your bit of problem," said Elrohir, "Is to find yourself a wife, give her a son, raise him, make him your heir, and then leave for our distant shore of paradise. It shouldn't take you more than a few years. Two decades, maybe. That is but a breath along the length of our lives."

"Except promises bind me here too," Legolas said.

"Ah," Elrohir quieted, a bit eyes understanding. "Damn things, aren't they?"

"I've had a few occasions to find out first hand," said Legolas, "Yes. Cursed be these Words."

Elrohir smiled grimly. "And the tireless man who wrings it from you. Estel is very… not fair to say persistent, for he plays no active role to press any of us into duty. He is simply… magnetic. I suppose. I'm thinking it is much easier to stay here, than to see his sad silver eyes watching us, feet planted on these shores as we depart it."

"Anyway his life is short," Legolas said, a bit too abruptly, feigning indifference, "It matters not. We will be away from here in no time at all."

"You say it," said Elrohir quietly, "Yet you find no comfort in it yourself. Why bother, _mellon-nin_? The words sting."

"I…" hesitated the Mirkwood elf, "I apologize. I curse the fates. Elves should have kept to elves and mortals to mortals. Friendships and loves were not made to cross these lines, they only guarantee tragedy. Who were we to think we could escape destiny? Or perhaps we were all too short-sighted. We sacrificed our hearts and our futures for immediate and short-lived gratifications. Foolish."

"You regret," Elrohir concluded.

_More than you think_, Legolas thought. But he stared back at the Rivendell elf, and there was a shift about the way Elrohir looked at him. Searching, searching, those eyes were hungry for understanding and seemed to be grasping at some sort of answer that Legolas' tongue refused to say but his sad eyes apparently betrayed.

"I regret," Legolas admitted.

* * *

There was no mistaking the flurry of the return of the King, some days later.

It never seemed to get old to the proud inhabitants of the White City- every welcome was a hearty one, for this King was much loved and much adored.

The four noble elves were having dinner when one of the guards made the announcement, out of breath and excited.

"My queen," he had said, "The King-"

He needn't have said anything else. She was up from his seat the very moment she had seen the wide smile across his face. Her twin brothers grinned at each other and rose to join her, heading out of the breakfast room of the King's lavish home, eager for the sight of him.

Legolas watched them go with some dread. He knew what Estel's hasty return meant. It meant his respite was ending. It meant too that a whole other part of his life was ending: the part of the careless rage, the part where he lived to kill for those lost. A new life was beginning and it was one he unfortunately dreaded.

He pushed up to his feet slowly as he reached for a goblet of wine. He liked how it burned through him, but desired more of its anesthetic effect on his mind. He was going to lose his nerve before Estel walked through those doors, unless he strode up to his old friend _right now_ and knock himself out of his misery.

_Maybe it wouldn't be so bad_, he thought tentatively, although that small voice in his head wasn't one that he readily trusted.

He glanced at his empty glass, and then reached for Elladan's abandoned one and downed that too. Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the room and made for the balcony that overlooked the north, where one could easily see the approach of the riding party.

Elrohir, Elladan, the Queen and a number of guards stood there, all unknowingly sharing the same eager pose; their hands were on the railing, their bodies leaning forward just-so, as if they were ready and eager to spring upon the new arrival. Legolas stood apart from them, easily seeing over their heads with his considerable height.

The King led the riding party at a break-neck pace, and it might have been his guilt and anxiety, but Legolas sure thought those silver eyes of Estel were staring straight up at him.

* * *

It took him a good hour to break free of the crowds that had reveled in his welcome. The throng of people had thickened the streets, touched his boots, touched his horse, touched any part of him that they could as they bowed and looked up at him with love and awe.

He may have indulged them because that was the sort of ruler that he was. Or maybe it was because he was in no rush to face up to old friends and say things he did not want to say, these things that equally did not want to be heard.

_So what are we all doing here?_ He thought sardonically, profoundly mirthlessly. He's traveled non-stop from the front of Rohan, and arrived here only to find he did not quite know what to say.

It seemed a minor eternity when his horse was ushered to the stables and his feet hit solid ground at last, after days of endless travel. He patted at the flank of his loyal horse absently, before leaving him to the care of the able page and heading for the castle that made up his home.

He was met at the doors with a running embrace from his wife, which eased his heart some as he hugged her back with considerable force. She laughed- and the sound was musical- as she pulled away from him and yielded him to her twin brothers.

Estel pretended to glance about the room. "It still stands!" he said, eyes wide in mock surprise.

Elrohir laughed and claimed a quick embrace, and then stepped aside from Elladan who redeemed the both of them by saying in the same, grave and mocking tone of surprise Estel had used on them, "You're still alive!"

The King's brow quirked, and his head tilted a bit, as if to concede. When Elladan stepped away, the mirth vanished from Elessar's eyes, and the change was so drastic that it seemed as if the room had dimmed. Legolas stood behind the Rivendell elf, and a tentative, grim look was set upon his face.

"Welcome back," he said to the King quietly.

Elessar nodded, still unsure. "Thank you. You look well." The latter was a lie, but he was searching his mind rather furiously. "Your fellow rode with me. Mikael. Good man."

"You can keep him if you like," the elf said, some humor lighting his eyes. Elessar smiled too. He clung to that light as a man with a log in a raging sea. There was no easy way around the damned words. There was no easy way.

"There is some business we must attend to," Elessar said.

"I know," Legolas breathed.

"What business?" Arwen asked.

Legolas glanced at her, and then looked to Elessar, trusting his judgment, knowing he'd respect Legolas' privacy and be the one to know how to dismiss his wife without offense.

"I will apprise you later," Aragorn promised her gently, looking at the twins with the same guarantee. She reached over and squeezed her hand, before she let herself be steered from the room by Elrohir and Elladan.

Legolas and Estel watched them leave, and when they left the room, listened to their fading footfalls.

"You could have told me everything and saved me all the trouble of the long roads," Estel told his old friend wryly.

"I couldn't seem to find the words," Legolas said plainly. The same seemed the case, now. Perhaps he should not have delayed, for all the time he took in thinking still yielded nothing of use.

"I know the feeling," Estel said.

"So," breathed Legolas, "We both know what we know, don't we? So let's not bother with those things and just say the things that need saying. I will seal your treaty with my marriage. Isn't that all that you need to hear and all that I need to say?"

"No," Estel argued, "It is not. We've gone on in circles too long, old friend. We've gone your way of keeping quiet, of secrets and wordless words. Things that I'm suddenly just supposed to understand. You're going to burst from your skin. I'm going to lose my mind. We will say more of the things that need saying and we will say them now."

Legolas fell silent. His heart thundered in his ears. He wanted to be elsewhere. The room was too closed in around them, the words were bouncing off the walls and reverberating inside his head. The things he did not want to say and did not want to hear were echoing over and over and over.

"I need to be outside," he said beneath his breath. He wanted the wind to eat up the words and bear them away. He did not wish for the walls to throw them back at him, he did not wish for the walls to share his secrets and let them hang in the air like a pall over the room, there for eternity.

The elf did not wait for the King's consent. He made for many of the home's tiers and balconies, searching for the wind, aching for the expanse of the horizon and the stars. He liked the feeling of being small and insignificant. He liked the feeling that there was a world beyond his woes, that they were nothing to the face of the world.

_This is nothing_, he told himself.

There was a guard on the balcony, whom Elessar had dismissed wordlessly. The armored Gondorian shuffled away with a few tinkling sounds of armor and scuffed boots on the fine marble floors.

Legolas took a deep breath and looked at Elessar pointedly. "What are the other things that need saying, hm?"

It was almost a challenge; _Dare__ you say them as well_? Was the question that seemed to be hanging before Elessar.

"You did not tell me Lilian was dead," Aragorn said, watching the elf's face.

"What good could such a thing have yielded?" Legolas replied coldly. "I've made my choice, you've made your choice. Hurtful though it may seem to say, but her death was almost incidental to the rest of our lives. You were to be with Arwen, and I with someone else."

"You did not tell me," continued Aragorn, "Even as a friend."

"The death of she whom I loved," said Legolas, "And my friendship with you, they are hard to divorce. They created possibilities and hurtful dreams that I did not wish to think of, nor wished for you to think of. Arwen deserves you fully, the entirety of you. You did not need one loose end like me, making things harder. The happy ending's already been made. I was no longer welcome."

Aragorn stared at him for a long moment, not knowing what to say. "The Easterlings-" he said, haltingly.

"Hapless victims of my rage?" Legolas scoffed, "You can say so. But I maintain that they are _takers_ who scour this Earth, and they know it. I am one of many, but I have the power to avenge us all. They took Lilian. And because my returning to her took _you_ from me, and that my choosing her and her death effectively left me with nothing, is it not fair to say the cursed Easterlings had taken it all?

"But no matter," continued Legolas quickly, "If you think it through, very little's changed, really. We chose to be apart. You chose to be with Arwen, and I with someone else. What is it to you, who? It could have been Lilian and it could have been anyone, you'd never even know, you never even knew her. What is it to you who I wed? The end is the same."

"I wanted you to be happy," Aragorn said quietly, "Even if it was not with me."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Legolas said sharing his gentle tone but infusing within it his steely determination, "It doesn't matter who comes next. No one of them is Lilian, and no one of them is you. This means I'll never love again. In that case, I might as well wed someone who can purchase your peace for you."

He hesitated, paused for a long moment. "But… I need you to ask it of me."

"Why?" Elessar asked.

"Because we need to end this together," Legolas said.

Elessar's eyes clouded with the _familiarity_ of those words. Dear gods… the past was a hurtful ghost…

"I've said my piece," Legolas continued, "I want to do this. But you have to know you wanted to do this too. You shouldn't have the luxury of one day standing in the future and looking over this as the past and thinking I've deserted you-"

"-You shouldn't have the luxury of hating me," Elessar finished for him with a wince, "I know how it goes."

"Then you know what to say," Legolas pointed out.

_Don't say it…_

Elessar stared at him for a long moment.

"I ask it of you."

* * *

To be continued…

HEY GUYS! Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews! As always, c&c's are very VERY welcome :) thanks for taking the time :) oh! And two chapters for this post so I hope you have fun. These two chapters end part one of the fic "Those Lost." Part two will be on its way soon, and its entitled "Possibilities." Part one was the set-up; it worked like a kind of backdrop to the real story, which we will see more of in part two. "Those Lost" is an angsty drama, but "Possibilities" will be more of an action adventure, and more of the OC Easterlings, more of Legolas and Aragorn and the summary mentioned in the teaser, and more of Elrohir and Haldir. So there. Enjoy the double-header and 'til the next post!

Okay some replies:

To orlandochick05: oh, sorry about the confusion. How my stories go are generally independent of each other, except for two trilogies. These fics go together under the "Exile" trilogy: "Exile," "Escape" and "Return." The other trilogy is the "Allies" trilogy: "Allies," "The Ghost of Imladris" and "Sacred Betrayal." So there generally isn't a carry over of the original characters :)


	14. Interlude 3: First Times

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

* * *

**PART ONE: Those Lost**

_Interlude 3_

_The Fellowship of the Ring: First Times_

_Parth__ Galen_

_February 26, 3019_

* * *

_The footfalls of the dwarf behind him were heavier than they usually were. Gimli Son of Gloin had taken some hurt in the melee that had thrown their Company scattered all across the cursed banks. But as long as he still managed to stay upright on his own power, and as long as there was still danger abound that urgently pressed on his attentions, Legolas let him be as he they ran about the woods in a frantic pace, seeking the call of the horn of Gondor._

_They broke into a clearing and stumbled to a halt that had jolted their feet as surely as the sight grabbed at their hearts. Boromir had taken to the ground with arrows protruding from his bleeding chest. The Ranger knelt before him, and was making him promises that one only made to the dead, to those whose mission was unfulfilled, whose steps could no longer grace the rest of a long and trying journey._

_Legolas could not tear his eyes from the tragic sight. He seemed particularly arrested by the Ranger's muddy, bloody, dirtied hands, weathered and busy hands. Helpless, defeated hands that matched the frustrated burning of his silver eyes. The tears lodged there glistened with the streaks of the sun that broke through the ceiling of leaves. All was quiet, now. Too quiet, too still. Like the stillness of the body that laid beneath the Ranger. And a body was all that it was, now. Boromir's left. It did not have his spirit and his fire, it was an empty host._

His body_… Legolas thought fleetingly, _how… final.

_It was unlike the fall of Gandalf, whose body was eaten up in shadow and mystery by the depths of Moria. It was unlike the death of elven friends whom he knew he'd meet in another life. The death of an _adan_ friend was to him the end of all his knowing; here in death their paths diverged. He did not know what befell men. He could not know._

Boromir_, he thought_, Have I seen the last of you?

_Gimli limped past him and pressed a hand to Aragorn's shoulder. Legolas stayed his ground, more unsure. He's never known grown men for tears before. He's always known they had their own hurts, all folk did. But he's never known a man well enough to truly care that he was unhappy. The considerably palpable pain of Aragorn was one that stabbed at him, it was a pain he did not know what to do with._

_He busied his hands, that was what he decided to do. He turned his saddened face from the sight of the dead man and gathered his scattered arrows and even the cursed arrows of the _yrchs_. The road ahead of them was long yet. One cannot dwell too long on these pains, one shouldn't._

_He pulled out arrow after arrow deliberately viciously and gathered them in his hands. This he pulled from an uruk's head. This from its face. That from over its black, black heart. He gathered a smelly armful, stained his hands and his clothes. The task was engulfing his senses._

_And then he realized that he's gathered all the usable arrows from the orcs he felled at the clearing. If he wanted to gather more, he'd have to venture out further away from Aragorn, Gimli and the body of Boromir. Which of course he wanted to do, except they were in a hurry and it would have been impractical if he drifted from them and still had to be searched for._

_Gathering his nerve, he walked toward man and dwarf. He realized then, too, that all the usable arrows in the clearing were indeed in his arms, save for the few that have been pulled from Boromir's body._

_The shafts were sturdy and firm, gripped in the hands of the Ranger. They were bloodied red and bright and burning, and Aragorn was handing them to him._

_"I do not wish for those," Legolas said quietly, searching Aragorn's silver eyes, wondering what it was that was being asked of him._

_"If these could save our lives," said Aragorn, "And the lives of those he died to protect… they will find more honor in your use, than in keeping them for the stain of his noble blood."_

_Numbly, Legolas reached for the arrow shafts. The blood there still ran, and it was warm. It was bright and it was glowing, and it was strange to hold the things that were the cause for a King's tears, the things that have stolen the breaths of a brave warrior._

_"We must find the others," Legolas said, wanting his mind to be turned elsewhere._

_"We cannot leave him here this way," Gimli said, "Like litter, sharing the grave of this uruk filth."_

_"He is no longer there," Legolas said edgily, "And our other friends still have need of us."_

_The two stubborn warriors turned to the man for a swing vote, but he was already busy bearing Boromir into his arms. Legolas set his jaws in defeat and annoyance. And then he said something that mystified himself as well._

Did I wish to hurt_, he would later wonder_, What did I want from them? What did I expect to achieve?

_The elf dropped the gathered shafts to the ground and said in consternation, "Give me an arm or a leg, I will help you. Let us just get this over with quickly."_

_"Don't waste your time," Aragorn glared at him hotly, and pushed past him toward the banks of the river, not wanting his disinclined help._

* * *

_Legolas bit his tongue and said his own prayers. Just in case the gods still listened to him at all, which they haven't been doing for a long while. And then as soon as the boat moved with the current and bore the dead man's body away, he readied the next one and pushed it toward the water._

_"Hurry," the elf said urgently, his busy hands were readying the boat, his eyes scanning for any supplies of importance that may have been forgotten, "Frodo and Sam have reached the __Eastern shore__."_

_It did not take him long to realize that he was working alone, and was even more alone with his urgency. He wondered if perhaps Aragorn was still mad at him, but then the thought was fleeting and he doubted very much that the man carried so petty a grudge in times so harsh. He looked up at the Ranger expectantly._

_The dwarf, who was sitting on the ground with his wounded side clutched tightly and his eyes weary, was looking up at Aragorn with expectation as well._

_"You mean not to follow them," Legolas deduced, reading the man's stern face, and how his actions betrayed no need for desperate running, but rather a letting-go. It was not only for Boromir that the road to Mordor ended, it seemed._

_"Then it's all been in vain," the dwarf said, wincing, "The Fellowship has failed."_

_Aragorn fell to a knee before the dwarf, and clutched at his shoulders reassuringly. "Not if we hold true to each other." He glanced up at Legolas. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left."_

_The dwarf's tired eyes burned, though his shoulders remained slumped with his pain and exhaustion. Valiantly, however, he pushed himself to his feet, only to sway and be settled back down by the Ranger._

_"Which unfortunately, you do not have much of at the moment, Master Dwarf," Aragorn chided him gently._

_"You must go ahead," Gimli grunted, embarrassed and hurting, "I can fend for myself. The little hobbits…"_

_"They are made of sterner stuff than you think," Aragorn guaranteed him, "Now be still. We will hunt orc when the time comes. But you need tending." Just as an aside, to keep the dwarf's pride from being too pricked, he added, "And I'm afraid so do I."_

_Which, Legolas decided, wasn't too far from the truth. The three of them looked bloodied and miserable, it was hard to tell where the blood of their foes ended and theirs began. _

_"We will camp here for now," Aragorn decided as he rummaged about their scattered supplies in seeking his healing effects, "Three hunters on foot can and will catch up to a block of orcs. They will not harm the hobbits, not along the considerable length of their road. They were captured with such purpose after all. And we also have the advantage of knowing where they are headed."_

_Legolas set his jaws but accepted the fair assessment. The dwarf was in grievous hurt, more than the stubborn Gimli cared to admit outright. And he was none too sprightly himself; the pause had given him the time to take stock of his own, weary body. There was still much to do, and he needed all the respite and recovery that he could get. As a seasoned warrior, he knew full well that if one was hurt, the less able was one to defend the self, and the more hurt one could get, if he managed to survive at all. The possibilities were exponential, and thus he understood that even the slightest of hurts had to be tended, if the time permitted the luxury._

_"I will scout around," said the elf to Aragorn, "Ensure we are relatively safe here. That is, if you have no need of me."_

_"The Ring is not with us," said Aragorn distractedly, as he began to peel off the uncharacteristically docile dwarf's armor, "Nor are any hobbits. I do not expect anyone will be hunting after us. But that is very prudent. I do not need your help here."_

_Legolas nodded, and briskly and purposefully walked away from the river banks. He wanted the time to think too, the time to gather more arrows, and to get away from the dwarf who kept tossing him uneasy glances, probably humiliated by his present vulnerability. It would have been very easy to bait the dwarf with a tease over his injuries, but elves generally do not find much amusement in the small fish- they went after more sporting prizes. And so it would be better to bump heads with the dwarf when he was in a more defensible position. Besides, perhaps he felt barbs would be out of place, given what had just happened to them. Boromir was dead. The Fellowship had broken. And maybe too, he was more than a little bit worried about the dwarf. Maybe._

_

* * *

_

_The sun had already cast a dull orange glow in late afternoon by the time he returned. Aragorn was still busy with the dwarf, who had fallen asleep. Because they both seemed alright, the elf gathered all of his spoils- arrow shafts he had gathered- and walked further down the river banks and away from his companions to wash them off._

_Legolas was normally less discriminate. He often found no time for any activities other than gathering the arrow shafts and thereafter stuffing them into his quiver. But now he had time for more than that, and he sat on the ground and decided to wash the blood from the shafts before storing them. The blood tended to smell in the stuffed quiver, which he had to bear on his back. He hated having to bring the stench along with him, to have to smell the blood every time he turned his head._

_He picked up a shaft absently, ran it through with water, ran his hands along its length to rid it of the dried blood. And then he set it on the ground to dry and picked up another. It wasn't terribly exciting, but it was relaxing. Pick it up, wet it, drop it. And then the next. And then the next, and then the next. Up until the very last one._

_This one shaft had a different feel to it. The blood was redder, and warmer, and thinner. He stared at it more closely, and realized it was an arrow shaft that had been taken from Boromir. There was more than a few, he remembered, but it sure seemed like this was the first one he noticed. He glanced at the clean pile. Save for his more finely crafted elven shafts, all the other shafts looked the same. He had no clue at all which of them had been in Boromir's body, and which he'd found lying around. He looked at them more closely. There really was no way of telling, and it seemed strange and irreverent._

_He frowned, and then put this last shaft into the water. He tried to do with it as he had done with the others, but he couldn't seem to tear his attention away from the redness that stained his hand and the shallow water as he washed the stick._

_His thumb rubbed at the shaft, willing for some of the dried blood to run with the river. And then he hesitated with dropping the shaft to the ground to dry along with the others. If he dropped it there, he thought fleetingly, he'd never be able to tell which was which, and he felt a kind of sadness about it, not being able to tell which arrow shaft had crossed into Boromir's heart, where even the hands of those who loved him could not reach. _

We cannot dwell on these pains for too long_, he decided_, There is much that has to be done before we can afford the luxury of tears and suffering.

_He stared at the arrow determinedly and set his jaws, before setting it to the ground with the rest of the shafts. And then he shuffled the sticks and made sure he had no idea where that particular arrow went._

_He ran his hands through his face, and wanted to kick himself for forgetting that the action ultimately meant he had streaked his face with water-diluted blood as well. He sighed heavily, and dunked his hands into the water and washed his face. He shook a little, wanting quite suddenly and desperately to be clean._

_The water was cold. It ran warm with the blood but then it turned cold when the blood ran with the current, away from him. The cold was comforting. It was clean, and he thought it will make him clean too._

_He'd heard of these cultures when he was younger, of renewal and re-birth in the water. Start clean, start anew, wash away the stain of sins. Of course his beliefs were different, but he appreciated the metaphor now more than ever._

_His hands and face were by now cleared of the blood. He wanted the rest of him to be just as spotless, so he rid himself of his leather straps, his swords – which he'd have to clean them later as well, he thought- his outermost tunic, his boots. He untangled the remnants of his unkempt braids, and he pushed himself toward the water. He was partway through to the middle of the river, when he noticed at last that he was being watched._

_"Your scouting took awhile," Aragorn told him from the banks, where he was crouched, "I suppose the fact that you'd risk being caught _en dishabille _out here in the open means we must be relatively safe."_

_"I saw no reason to disturb you," Legolas said, walking closer toward him and wondering how long he had been watching. He stayed in the water up to his waist._

_"Do not venture out further," Aragorn warned him, as the Ranger settled on the ground and lit his pipe, "The current is strong. We lingered here to set free one dead warrior with the flow of the river down to the falls, not two."_

_"I am a strong swimmer," Legolas offered lamely, blinking at the man and again, wondering how long it was he'd been watching, if he had seen the hesitation over the cursed arrow shafts. "I'm sorry about earlier," Legolas said quickly, surprising even himself, "It was insensitive of me."_

_"Sadness comes in infinite forms," Aragorn said to him, averting his silver glance and letting his eyes settle upon the clean pile of arrow shafts. Legolas guessed that Aragorn had seen him. "I apologize for being brash with your way."_

_"We were not dear friends," Legolas added, "But I believe he was a good man, and the loss of any of them deserves mourning. And certainly more respect, from me."_

_Aragorn nodded at him grimly. His eyes were calmer now, but no less unhappy. "Is it cold?" he asked of the water instead._

_"I do not recommend it for an _adan_," replied Legolas, "How is Master Gimli doing?"_

_"He'll sleep for awhile," answered Aragorn, "But I meant what I said, earlier. We can catch up to Merry and Pippin. We have to tend to our own fragmented party's wounded first, however, if we want to succeed in reclaiming them."_

_Legolas waded ashore, and sat beside Aragorn as he waited for the wind to dry him. "I can go ahead. I run fast, I am not weary, I can leave you traceable tracks... I am of no use to either of you here anyway."_

_"And what then when you get there ahead of us?" Aragorn pointed out, "A small army against a solitary elf, who holds them no purpose that will give them a reason to keep you alive, sounds like a death wish to me."_

_Legolas shrugged, and busied himself with his discarded tunics and dipping them in the water to clean. The winds were picking up, and the underclothes that he was wearing were dry enough to be swaying with them and pressing against his skin. The Ranger beside him was beginning to remove his outer clothes as well, quite bent on cleaning them too. It was then that Legolas saw his miscellaneous wounds._

_The elf nodded at them randomly. "Those need tending to."_

_Aragorn glanced down at his bloodied, cut body. Arms, hands, neck, face… "I suppose," he chuckled, "But I don't seem to know where to start."_

_Legolas pulled his clothes and leather straps from the water and hung them on the obliging branches of a nearby tree. He looked around him and retrieved Aragorn's healer's sack and wordlessly decided which of the wounds merited his attention. Aragorn made for a decent patient, seemed accustomed to pain and did not stiffen or even complain over the elf's ministrations, mostly remaining quiet as the elf worked._

_"I wonder what the others are doing," Aragorn murmured._

_"I wonder…" Legolas said absently, softly, his voice but a breath on the man's skin for the elf was now working on his back, "I wonder where Boromir is."_

_They fell silent for a long while. The elf did not expect an answer, and the _adan_ had none to give. When Legolas finished with the Ranger, he stepped away and let him continue his clothes washing as he turned to his own knives. He glanced at the near distance, where Gimli lay sleeping on a mat next to a fire Aragorn had set._

_"He's not stirred at all," the elf commented as he wiped at his sword with a rag he had borrowed from the Ranger, "Are his hurts grievous?"_

_"Some," replied Aragorn, smiling slightly, "Mostly he is weary from travel and banter with you. And I gave him something… something _soothing_ to drink."_

_"You drugged the Dwarf," Legolas said flatly, though his eyes were beginning to dance._

_"I did," replied the _adan_ not just shamelessly, but rather… rather proudly too._

_"I wish I'd thought of that."_

_

* * *

_

_There was actually a host of other things he'd not thought of._

_For instance, that same evening, the elf had volunteered to take the first watch of the night, and promised and lied when he said he'd wake the _adan_ for his turn. The man needed the rest more, Legolas decided. He was quite comfortable with his plan, up until the dwarf began to stir from his dreams and Legolas suddenly remembered that, with Aragorn asleep, it was up to him to give the dwarf some of his not-quite professional and not-so comforting bedside manner._

_The elf scooted over next to the dwarf silently, and leaned to press his face toward Gimli's view as the dwarf blinked himself awake. He jerked upright in surprise, hitting the elf's nose with his forehead. Legolas bit back a surprised cry, and put a hand over Gimli's mouth to muffle his just complaints and less-necessary cursing._

_"Shh," the elf breathed upon his ear, as he pulled his hand away from the dwarf's mouth when he felt Gimli calming._

_"Are you trying to kill me?" the dwarf muttered at him, "put something on my face as I sleep!"_

_"Lower your voice," Legolas told him soothingly, though he sure wanted to do something else as he rubbed at his sore face. "Aragorn sleeps."_

_Gimli glanced guiltily at the peaceful man some steps away from them. Aragorn's back was turned to them as he curled up in rest. The dwarf looked back at Legolas disapprovingly as he rubbed at his hurting side. The jolt had apparently reawakened his pains along with his bearings._

_"Do you need anything?" Legolas asked him attentively. The dwarf stared at him for a long, measuring moment._

_"If I asked for a drink," Gimli said, "Would you put something in it, master elf?"_

_"Your suspicion toward me is undeserved," Legolas chuckled, nodded toward Aragorn's back, "I'd be more wary of the things the healer offers. It was he who put you to sleep." The elf smiled at him, patting his shoulder reassuringly before rising to his feet and taking his own waterrskin for the dwarf to drink from. As an afterthought, he grabbed a piece of _lembas_ as well. The dwarf hadn't eaten dinner after all._

_"Thank you," Gimli grumbled as he feasted on what were actually some meager offerings, save they came from a once-sworn enemy who was now looking at him earnestly._

_"How are your wounds?" Legolas asked._

_Gimli cocked an eyebrow at him. "Better. I can certainly outfight you when we resume our hunt."_

_"Oh can you," Legolas said, rubbing his chin in thought as he settled on the ground next to the dwarf, "That better not be a wager."_

_"All bets are off," the dwarf said as he stuffed his mouth, "I wouldn't bet against me either."_

_"You've got yourself a challenger," Legolas told him boldly._

_"You will lose," Gimli said to him, "I'd hate to see you lose, after you've been so kind to me this night."_

_Legolas just smiled at him, with a keen glint to his eye. "You don't know what you're getting into, master dwarf. I like these kinds of wagers, and I've never lost before."_

_"As the adage goes," said the dwarf, "There will be a first time for everything." _

_An elf serving a dwarf his dinner, for one. An elf enjoying a dwarf's company, for another. Legolas did not mind the two, but he certainly wouldn't allow himself to lose to a dwarf._

_After awhile, the elf managed to convince the dwarf to sleep, as he resumed his watch of the night. He leaned against the bark of a tree, and hummed softly to himself as he toyed with his new bow. When that got old, he looked toward Gimli, and then his eyes drifted to Aragorn's back as it rose and fell with his breathing._

_The sight was comforting, rhythmic. The dwarf made for a more interesting sleeper, with his busy face and occasional jerking, but Aragorn asleep was as calming as Aragorn awake. _

How could one man emanate such dependability_, Legolas wondered. He remembered meeting Aragorn and trusting him, as a fellow adopted child of Imladris. And then along the course of the Quest, he was generous, patient, fearless. He was easy to speak with, easy to respect, even quite easy to love. His silver eyes saw much and saw all too well, and though he was determined to succeed, he had gentleness as well. A King he was indeed, amongst men. A King, amongst wherever he was he managed to find himself._

And so the riddle is answered_, Legolas thought, _The Evenstar could love you, because most anyone could. The difference,_ he figured_, I suppose, is that you love only her in true and absolute return. No one else.

_The man stirred, shifted his weight such that his face was now turned toward the elf. And then his silver eyes opened slowly, as a nocturnal flower seeking the moon, settling at once and almost knowingly upon the gaze of his quiet watcher._

To be continued…


	15. Travelers

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**

* * *

****PART TWO: Possibilities**

Chapter Twelve: Travelers

Minas Tirith

* * *

They did not say goodbye.

Again.

The elf seemed to have a bit of a penchant for inaccessibility lately. But then again, Aragorn was not surprised nor was he disappointed. In fact, he was rather selfishly relieved that he didn't have to think of the right words, the right tone… How strange it was that their once great friendship and its grander love had come to this… this profound uncertainty around each other, like walking on eggshells, perpetually fearing something would break with one wrong breath.

The King had woken knowing that he was gone. His wife slept beside him, and it seemed irreverent, thinking of such things as Arwen lay beside him with her eyes closed and her lips upturned just so in a bit of a smile, caught as she was in pleasant dreams, as if she did not long to be anywhere else.

But the mind did what it did, and he found it drifting off to that last time he and the elf had spoken.

"I ask it of you," he had said, and he remembered marveling at how calm he sounded. How calm, and cold, and callous. Especially since his heart was pounding, and he remembered having been more than slightly angry.

_How could he expect me to ask this_, he thought, _how could he…?_

And then with equal coldness, Legolas nodded at him and said, "All right. We are in agreement." But in his usual way, his clear blue eyes flared as if he'd been offended, spurned. "It shall be done," the elf said, "But there are arrangements to be made."

"I understand," said Elessar, "I will give you time, and any resources you need. We," he had said the _We_ that meant his country, and generally, the allies of Gondor, "recognize that in your actions We will be in your debt."

"I need only time to speak with my King," said Legolas, "And in the interest of saving time, as well as… as well as…" he tried to kid, but really his efforts at a smile had turned into a rather sad, painful wince, "…As well as to accost any possibility of my having to change my mind, I would appreciate it if you send a wedding party for… for Nadina. The first of the weddings will occur here, of course, in my own kingdoms. Where it is safer, and where it is expected of me. But impart that their own ceremonies will be respected and followed soon afterwards."

"I will do so," Aragorn promised him, "Our treaty will have been settled by the time she arrives."

"And then we can all go to a wedding," Legolas said, an edge to his tone although he tried valiantly to keep it detached. The subject was hard enough, even without going into arguments.

"Indeed," Aragorn murmured.

"Let it be done," Legolas said, offering his hand to Aragorn for a binding shake. Elessar took it. And thought about how different it all once had been.

As he thought so, this early morning before the sun rose. This early morning that he knew he'd already been left.

He rose from bed, quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. He ran through all the paperwork he's been working on, the treaty Nathaniel had drafted and that Eomer had passed on to him, and then the corrections that his own counsel had made. Nathaniel's treaty was already very fair and comprehensive, there really was very little else to be done. Now all he had to do was to sign it, return to the front at Rohan and have Eomer and Nathaniel sign it as well, and then return to Gondor with the two Kings and work on the increasingly anxious front to entice the rest of the Easterlings there toward peace.

The armistice he had left at the Gondor front still held, he was told, though it was wary and dangerous. No blades have crossed yet, but none of the two forces have retreated. The Gondorians awaited the word of their King, and the Easterlings struggled to recoup their forces. At this rate, if the treaty should fail, the Easterlings that the Gondor front will be facing will be much more strong than if they faced each other weeks ago. But if it succeeded… no one would have to kill and be killed at all. The stakes were high. They've known this for a long while, but time was mounting its own assault upon them, and battles could be waylaid only for so long.

He gathered the sheaf of papers from a table he had used the night previous; it was never meant to be a working table, but he liked its location for night work, over the desk in his main office. This way, he could sit by the bed he shared with the woman he loved, and rested his eyes and his heart with the occasional sight of her peaceful, sleeping face.

Although admittedly, last night the sight of her had contributed to his tribulations in a way that hasn't perturbed him since before he married her. Legolas had been right in keeping his secrets after all; the death of Lilian created possibilities that they dared not think of. These were dangerous dreams he did not want to entertain. He loved his wife, he truly did. She was enchanting and magical, the mother of his child. He'd live and die for her. But he was never deluded enough not to think of what-might-have-been's.

_If I was somebody else_, he thought_, or if you were somebody else_…

But such thoughts were desperate and destined for tragedy. They both knew this. It was why they chose to part and be with the women who owned their respective promises. Being somebody else was a fruitless exercise; if they weren't who they were, they might have had a chance of being together, but then again they might not have loved each other in the first place.

He arranged the sheaf in his arms, and then stooped over his wife and planted a kiss on her forehead. She blinked awake and smiled indulgently up at him.

"Go back to sleep," he told her gently.

"You wake me," she said wryly, "And then you tell me to sleep. Make up your mind, my King."

He smiled, freed a hand enough to ruffle her unkempt but still glorious hair. It was an improper thing to do to the Evenstar, but the childish endearment was one he irreverently enjoyed doing to her. "I will see you in a few days. Sleep peacefully, my dear. Our world is going to be much safer now."

"But why do your eyes look so sad?" she asked him softly, and when he deigned to answer, she took his hand and squeezed it, before doing as he wished and going back to sleep.

* * *

The King dressed and then woke up another Rivendell royal with far less gentleness and far more aplomb. He burst into the room with no qualms at all over disturbing its occupant, and he had a bit of a smile on his face as Elrohir shot up awake and glared at him.

Aragorn closed the doors behind him and sat next to his adoptive brother on the slightly rumpled bed. The elf was furiously combing at his hair and straightening out his robes. The Noldorin were usually very graceful, but they _stirred_ in sleep occasionally too, especially this particularly restless one.

Elrohir's dismay didn't last for very long because it seldom did. His eyes raked through the King's clothes and concluded that he was on the way out. "Going somewhere?"

"Back to Rohan," replied Estel.

"Oh, well," said the elf, "I suppose it's all right for you to have barged so cavalierly in here to bid your old brother goodbye."

"Oh no," said Estel, "You're going with me."

Elrohir crossed his arms over his chest in piteous defiance. "Oh I am, am I?"

"Yes," the _adan_ smiled, "I figured Rivendell can do with one less manager, for a short while."

"Elladan's not going?" asked Elrohir.

"No," replied Estel, "I didn't want to deprive Imladris of both its lords for too long. I know you planned to return there in a few days."

Now the elf was curious. His arms dropped to his sides as he pushed off his bed and rose to his feet. "We're leaving right now?"

"Shortly," replied Estel, "We're going to Rohan to sign the peace treaty. And then I'm going back here with Eomer and Nathaniel to serve our southeastern foes with the same option."

"And where will I be?" Elrohir asked him wryly.

"I'm going to need you," Estel took a deep breath, "To pick up Legolas' bride for the wedding."

Elrohir's eyes widened. "Oh! How… pleasant. I didn't know. He did not mention it. I suppose since he has no available next of kin- father busy being King and all, and I remember most his relatives have sailed away or died out in the wars- he'd ask a spirit-brother such as you to head the wedding party. But you are also otherwise occupied with matters of state, such that the duty ultimately falls to me. And where from shall I steal the lovely lady?"

"Far east," replied Aragorn, "As in _The_East, not just speaking in terms of a general direction."

"Oh," Elrohir said after a long, _long_ moment. "Ohhh…"

"His wedding to the Easterling seals the treaty," Aragorn informed Elrohir, "I send you yes, out of the reasons you've mentioned. But also because I need a man that I trust there, and one who can command a small contingent of joint forces of Easterlings and Men of the West, without belonging to either group. For the appearance of relative impartiality. And I also need a warrior who can hold his own, should trouble arise."

Elrohir ran his hands along his face. "Ohhhh…" he said, still caught in his initial reaction.

"Is that a 'yes?'" asked Aragorn earnestly.

"Oh," Elrohir groaned, "Have you ever known me for saying no to you, hm?" the elf sighed, "I'm going to kill you Estel, really, I am. Can I ask you just one thing?"

"What's that?" the _adan_inquired.

"Why me?" asked Elrohir, sounding perfectly miserable.

"Well," Estel chuckled slightly, "Elladan's room is farther down the hall than yours."

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS! 

Thanks so so so so so much for reading and especially for the c&c's. two chapters in one post again… I know, as a reader, that super short posts after long waits can be so… well, short, haha. So two chapters for you guys since this one's short. Interlude four will be long, and it's my favorite chapter in Love, War. I hope you have fun, and your comments are always, always welcome. Thanks again and have fun! 'til the next post:)


	16. Interlude 4: How You Know

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**

* * *

****PART TWO: Possibilities**

_Interlude 4_

_The __Two__Towers__: How Do You Know_

_March 2, 3019_

_Edoras_

_

* * *

_

_They sat on the table of Theoden's Golden Hall, the first real rest for weary legs over the span of days over days of endless running. And still the elf preferred to remain standing. _

What a wonder_, the dwarf marveled, though he was of course loathe to admit it and kept the observation to himself. They've been running since they started to hunt orc from Parth Galen, when his wounds had sufficiently healed. _

_The road of their pursuit had only been peppered by too much "Come Gimli's" than he wanted. The elf was always a few paces ahead, would pause and wave him over, as if it was so easy. At the start he thought perhaps he was being mocked. But then it appeared that the elf really was very earnest in his encouragements, false though they sometimes were; how many times had he heard that they were gaining on their quarry, when it sure appeared that there was no longer any trace of the uruk party that had taken Meriadoc and Peregrin from them._

_When finally there had been some sign, it had only been too brutal. He remembered thinking he'd rather have had no clue as to where they were, rather than to know for a certainty that they've died._

_"The uruks are destroyed," said the exiled man from Rohan, "We slaughtered them during the night." _

_"But there were two hobbits," Gimli insisted, thinking it couldn't be possible that sprightly Merry and Pippin had been mistaken for foes and killed so ruthlessly, "Did you see two hobbits with them?"_

_"We left none alive…" the man had said, and Gimli lost all the rest of it. The three hunters had come so close. Maybe if he hadn't been hurt in Parth Galen, the hobbits would have been saved. If he'd been left. If he had died and been cast into the water with Boromir and elf and man went on ahead without rest. If they'd only run faster, without him lagging behind…_

_"Dead…?" he heard himself whisper._

_"I am sorry," said the man, a flash of sympathy crossing his weathered, world-weary face. It was not so hard not to believe him when he said, "Look for your friends, but do no trust a hope. It has forsaken these lands."_

_But the man from Rohan may have spoken too soon, for fate made good turns too. Rohan was not so far gone just yet. The hobbits turned out to be alive, the wizard they thought they had lost to shadow weeks ago was restored to them, and then here they stood, in the Golden Hall with _realchairs! _and_a warm meal! _and_ale!

It's not so bad_, the dwarf reflected, _if you don't think about the trouble ahead

_Which of course, they didn't have the luxury of not doing. Two Kings slammed their heads against each other as they debated the best course of action for a people long wearied of war. Eomer of Rohan was not the only one tainted by hopelessness. His disheartenment seemed an embodiment of a proud people weathered by death and pain._

_King Theoden and Eowyn his niece and the quiet, bedraggled people of Rohan, one in pain immeasurable. Unfortunately but one of a batch of human faces in the Earth that was so threatened by the darkness of Mordor._

_"I will not bring further death to my people," Theoden declared._

_They were going to flee to the mountains. _

_

* * *

__Late Afternoon,_

_The Road to Helm's Deep_

_

* * *

_

_She had heavy, lonely eyes that were beautiful even in her sadness. They seemed to cry for a valiant knight's cause._

_Legolas had noted it, the way her people rallied around Eowyn of Rohan. The uncle who doted in his calm, gentle way. The women and children who adored her and wished to be like her. The soldiers who would die for her. And then the _adan_ and the dwarf, who paid her special mind and made it their joint mission to make her smile._

_The elf personally did not have the luxury of indulging her, though he understood how her loneliness called most others well enough. He rode alongside Theoden at the head of the column most of the time, his senses stretching out to as far as they could to keep the safety of their lengthy road. He could hear her laughter from behind him. It was musical, and endearing. He wondered how her smile looked, but did not have the luxury of looking behind him to check either._

_"I feel we are being watched and waited for," he said softly, to the Rohan guards that flanked him left and right. The King of Rohan had lagged some paces behind, caught in conversation with Aragorn._

_"Truly, my lord?" asked the one called __Hama_

_"This is our one road to the fortress, am I correct?" the elf murmured._

_"Yes, my lord," replied the other, Gamling. "Well, the quickest and surest one, that is."_

_Legolas let it go for now, though his brow creased in thought. His senses were pricked and bristling, his heart pounding with uncertainty. They were nearing something that awaited them. The ambush instincts were ingrained on him from generations as a warrior. But apparently, these beings who trailed or awaited them were hunters too, and very good ones._

_"Slow the party slightly," Legolas murmured to the two men, as he dismounted his horse, handed them the reins, and sprang forward to survey the road ahead of them. In studying the land, he preferred to be on his feet, for the connection to the Earth was closer._

_He looked about him and decided he did not like the formation of the land. The ground was uneven, a steeply sloping rock face hovered over them to their left. They were traveling atop a hill as well, and it ended on a crest that looked over lower flatlands, that was bordered on the other side by the slight incline of another hill. The flatlands resembled a kind of wide bowl, bordered by a rock face on one side, hills on two ends, and a sharp cliff that fell down to forever on another side. It would have been perfect for an ambush; their attackers could hide over the rock face, or beyond the other hill, out of sight. _

_The road to the fortress was to go straight ahead or to go around it, but of course the shortest, straightest route was the one preferred. The elf pondered their options, as Gamling and __Hama__ rode past him for a look as well. Legolas' eyes trailed after them. The two men were experienced scouts too, he understood, but he was feeling uncomfortable over their vulnerability there._

_The horses were just as uneasy. Hama's was shifting and rearing on its feet, restless. _

_"What is it?" Gamling asked, looking around anxiously._

_"I'm not sure," replied the man, just as the warg-borne scout of their foes raced down the length of the rock face above __Hama__ and knocking both horse and man to the ground. __Hama__ had barely begun screaming when his life was taken from him by the vicious beast._

_Legolas' eyes widened as ran forward, bow and arrow in hand. _

_"Wargs!" Gamling exclaimed._

_Legolas aimed for the warg, and downed it with a release of his arrow. He shot forward just as its fallen rider fell to the ground, screeching in a most unearthly manner in his surprise and to warn his comrades. Legolas heard Gamling riding away to warn the rest of the walkers, as he straddled the warg-riding scout and slit its throat with his knife in a hurried, desperate attempt to silence him at once, to keep him from calling upon his allies._

_The warg-rider was in over his head; the moment the elf had downed him, he was very nearly as good as dead. But he made a grab for the small knife he kept at his belt, and streaked it across the elven warrior's side just before he was killed._

_Legolas bit back a cry of pain and surprise. Gathering his breath, he pushed at the body and rose to his feet, exclaiming, "A scout!"_

_He readied his bow and arrows, heading for the relative better view of the hillcrest, hearing the thundering approach of their predators from the other side of the hill, as well as the approach of the riders of Rohan behind him, and the cries of the people and their hurried pace toward an alternate route. _

_The elf shot at the first figures that rose from the hill and descended to the flats. They did not come at an immediate flurry, but whenever he downed a warg and its rider, more came, and for every one that fell three more seemed to emerge._

_He glanced behind him at the approaching Rohan riders. He eyed Gimli at the head, struggling to man a mad-paced Arod. He kept his weapons, and caught the proud horse's reins and swung himself over its back, not even slowing it down. The horse had such spirit, bred by brave warriors and enriched and challenged by its new elven master._

_Horses and arms and men clashed boldly with their foes. The first literal clash was brutally hard and dull, and then it sharpened as the animal collision turned to swords and knives on the ground. The dwarf who shared Legolas' steed rode through the first clash and survived by clinging to the elf, whose teeth were clenched at the fingers of his friend dug through his freshly acquired injury. And then the dwarf wanted _off!_ and let go and rose to his feet, raising his axe for the fight ahead._

_Legolas first thought the dwarf had fallen, rather than intentionally more or less jumping off the horse. He turned to where the dwarf landed, where he was practically daring a warg to come charge at him. Legolas shot at the warg with his arrow, and rode off as the dwarf cried foul behind him, claiming "That one counts as mine!"_

* * *

_Legolas had made his own just-as-unglamorous dismount some time ago, faced with a formidable foe and an already considerable injury. Still, he noted that once again, he managed to survive this melee on his feet, and for that he was grateful._

_Wincing a little, he glanced around him and found that though much diminished, the forces of Rohan had emerged victorious, with many of the survivors either finishing off already downed foes, or darting back and forth checking on comrades fallen. _

_The elf had his own checks to make, and along his short walk around hjad caught sight of Theoden, and then heard Gimli with all of his war-cries and triumph-cries and generally just making a lot of noise that a dead dwarf couldn't have made. _

_"Aragorn?" he called out, which made the dwarf and the King of Rohan take equal notice of the palpable absence of the man._

_"Aragorn!" Gimli called out as well, more forcefully._

_The growing anxiety in the oft-jovial dwarf's voice was giving rise to Legolas' own fears. Surely, the man would have answered by now, unless he was injured or dead. The best case would have been the former of course, though it was grave as well, and Legolas feared greatly over what state he'd ultimately find his friend in._

Oh dear _gods, he thought, inanely wondering how he could have heard his mind beneath the thundering of his heart, _Aragorn…

_He remembered that he hadn't even checked on the _adan_ along the course of the battle, so caught was he in his own struggles and pains, assured by the man's seeming infallibility, his constant presence._

_"Aragorn!" he called out again, heading toward the cliffs, unsure why his feet somehow called him there. Where was he now? He whose silver eyes burned with humor, passion, determination, careful thought? Whose calloused hands never ceased from giving? Whose heart laugh and earthy voice was a comfort to all who beheld it? Whom men would have followed to their deaths at the ends of the world? He who was so easy to love and to adore? _

I've lost you_, he realized, and the sudden emptiness was gnawing and piercing and unforgettable._

_"He's dead," the warg-rider had laughed wickedly, coughing in near-death, devoting even the last of his breaths to malice, "He took a little tumble off the cliff."_

_"You lie!" Legolas exclaimed, taking the uruk by the collar, shaking him. But he was gone, and clutched in his death grip was the pendant of the Evenstar. Its light winked from the gaps of the spindly fingers, and Legolas released it from their darkness and held it reverently._

_He strode to the cliff, stiffly, with much fear and hurt. The sensation was familiar, he was not a stranger to loss. But it was not a pain anyone can get accustomed to. The pendant was captured in his own grip now, and he imagined it was still warm with the skin of Aragorn, his sweat and his blood. How intimate it felt, to touch this, something Aragorn bore for years on his _neck_, near to his heart. He had worn it with fierce pride and fierce love. Legolas felt it, and he never felt closer to the man than he did in that moment, clutching the object of Aragorn's loving and the power of his determinations. It all burned through his skin, though the man was gone._

_"Get the wounded on horses," said Theoden, "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead."_

_Legolas' head shot toward the King, as if Theoden had blasphemed. But the elf too, understood that the King was doing what needed to be done, had said what it was that Legolas feared so much to say. No one could have survived that fall. Hence, Aragorn was dead. They had to move on. Still, it hurt no less to hear, especially with the pendant clutched in his hand, the staunchest reminder of the man's life reverently ensconced in his fingers._

_"Come," Theoden said to him gently, his old eyes wise as he placed a warm hand upon the elf's shoulder._

_The elf let the man's hand fall from his shoulder wordlessly, as he looked back down into the raging waters. He felt the deep desire to jump and follow. To search perhaps._

Where do you all go…?

_Or maybe to die as well_.

Where do _we_ all go without you…?

_He did not understand it then, but it sure felt as if the world had ended._

* * *

_Early Evening,_

_Helm's Deep_

_

* * *

_

_The ride to the keep was long and agonizing. It was partly attributable to the dwarf behind him unknowingly clutching at his untended wounded side. But then again physical pain had always been more or less bearable to him. It was the dwarf's tears that made for a greater burden. The ride was an intimate one, kept as they were in close quarters. Legolas felt every hitch of the dwarf's breath, his failed struggle for containment. The elf pretended not to notice. It was not hard to keep from asking, to keep quiet and stay still. He did not have the heart to lend voice to what had just happened to them._

_When Helm's Deep came into immediate view, he felt great and profound relief. It was unlike the relief of the people of Rohan, who saw in its great stone safety and endurance. He was much more shortsighted- he merely saw release from Gimli and his tears._

_They rode Arod up through the massive causeway, passed the Outer Wall and entered the __Outer Court__. There, the crowds thickened to welcome their King and see if their loved ones survived the assault or not. It was difficult to steer the horses, for the crowds made for a throng of anxious people. Legolas dismounted, and absently aided the dwarf. He saw Eowyn of Rohan from the periphery of his vision, and her lonely eyes were once again stricken by the little numbers of men who had returned from the defense of their people. He didn't think that gaze could get any lonelier._

_Legolas took Arod by the reins and ushered him away from the people. He did not know where the stables were, but he followed after the other soldiers who were doing the same. He left just as he heard Eowyn inquire of Gimli, "Lord Aragorn?"_

_"He fell," said the dwarf, his voice thick with emotion._

_Legolas blinked at the tears that came unbidden to his eyes, obscuring his vision. It was different, hearing these words from a friend in grief, over hearing them from a villain in all his malicious intent. It sounded truer. And the dwarf's voice… how devoid of hope it sounded. _

_A page received his horse at the stables, and Legolas patted the beautiful beast's flank in gratitude and assurance. It was the first time he was without a task to do since they rested in Meduseld, and he was feeling misplaced. Especially since the people of Rohan kept throwing him uncertain glances, being the sole elf there. He reflected that perhaps it was the first time many of them had even set his eyes on someone like him._

_"Prince Legolas?" a soldier called from behind him. He turned to find it was Gamling. "King Theoden invites you to his chambers. Perhaps you can find more comfortable quarters there."_

_"He bids me to come?" Legolas asked, finding his voice scratchy and unused. The last thing he had said was an exclamation of disbelief, speaking to a warg-rider who had been instrumental in the death of his friend._

_"At your leisure, my lord," replied Gamling, "Hardly an order."_

_"I…" Legolas hesitated. He suddenly had no idea if he belonged in the King's counsel, without Aragorn there._

_"My lord?" Gamling asked, looking at him closely. The man's eyes drifted down to the elf's wounded side and widened slightly. "You do not look all that well…"_

_"Ah, yes," Legolas breathed, glancing at his wound and wincing. It hurt like blazes, but at least it was going to give him something to do, for the meantime. "If you could point me in the right direction...?"_

_"The healers have accosted a corner of the inner court," replied the soldier, "I would offer you the services of the King's own physician, but my liege sent her down there as well."_

_"I did not expect King Theoden to do any less," Legolas said, smiling slightly at the loyal man in reassurance._

_"Is there anything special that you need?" asked Gamling, as he began to lead the way toward the healers', "Given your… your constitution?"_

_"My constitution?" asked Legolas, confused._

_"Being an elf, and all," replied Gamling._

_"No," answered Legolas, "No, thank you."_

* * *

_Legolas waited patiently for his turn, sitting in a line of quiet, weary men. The healers used their experienced eyes in their triage; those men who were still salvageable with immediate attention were seen to before anyone else. Those who were still standing relatively strong were made to wait, like him. The dying were set aside gently to a corner, pages and young boys sent out around the keep to look for their families, that they could have someone to hold their hands in their passing._

_The line of the waiting patients paralleled the line of the men who were waiting to die. Some of the men who were in Legolas' line had spotted comrades and friends amongst the dying, and broke from their valued places to grasp at flailing hands and speak soothing words and murmur prayers for them. Legolas watched, once again feeling out of place and spectacularly unhappy._

_The elf was particularly taken by a young boy with his pale face and wide eyes staring right back at him. His fatal injury was hidden beneath a bloody, weathered old coat that someone had generously given up for his warmth. He was too young, too young to be waiting to die. Blood trailed down a corner of his small mouth._

_"An angel," he murmured absently, not completely in possession of himself. His mind was fleeting._

_Legolas turned to look behind him, but there was no one there, and the boy was staring at him longingly._

_"What is it like?" the boy asked him, breath hitching in struggle._

_Legolas' brows furrowed. He wanted to pretend he didn't understand. He wanted to ignore the boy's naked longing. He wanted to keep to himself. He did not want to comfort anyone else, he was consumed by his own losses. This boy's tragedy was someone else's. But then he was who he was too. And he scooted over and sat by the boy's head._

None of us should be here_, Legolas wanted to say. But then the boy was dying and he must know that quite well by now, much better than anybody. And it wasn't going to be his problem anymore, not after the real angels bear him away._

_Legolas closed his eyes. _Heaven_, he thought, _what is it like… Dear child. You will know much sooner than I. And then you can tell me.

_"I am no angel, young one," Legolas said to him softly, "I'm sorry. I can only tell you what I've been told of their homes." _

_The boy just nodded, encouragingly. Almost desperately. If he wasn't so quickly aged by war, Legolas could have seen him as a sprightly youth who could have said, "Tell me, tell me, tell me."_

_His grasp of the Westron language, though acute, could not possibly encase the vision of a paradise that lay in promise to all souls who passed the Earth and moved toward their ultimate destiny. Speech could not do it justice either, and for all the injustice done to a boy dying so slowly and painfully in a war, Legolas was loathe to deprive him of this last simple request._

_And so in his own tongue, in a low voice, he sang of the promises of the gods. These were promises of white-capped waves on a silver shore, and skies so clear they stretched out to forever, alongside a blanket of twinkling stars. The winds were warm and gentle, there was music and laughter, and no one was ever alone. _

_It was sung to him by his father after his mother died. That was to where she will ultimately go, and it's not so bad. Now he sung it for a stranger, and inadvertently, he supposed he sung it for himself too. For Boromir, and for Aragorn. For all who will follow them, for the ghosts of this very room._

_And then the song was over, and he opened his eyes to find the boy had died, had let himself drift away with the fading of that final note. His lips were graced by a smile, his face looked beautiful and young as it should, no longer tainted by war and pain._

_Legolas looked up from his face, to find he was being stared at, tearfully and appreciatively. Some amount of fear too, as the backcountry folk wondered about his elven enchantments. But the music had crossed past the barrier of language- it was a shared longing for peace and heaven, going past cultures. It tweaked at the heart. _

_A stern-faced woman healer broke the trance, and when she moved it felt as if the room began to move again as well. She strode over to the dead boy and checked for his pulse, touching his neck. The healer's hands lingered just so, in gentleness. She said something in the native tongue of Rohan, perhaps it was a prayer or a goodbye._

_"He was my younger brother," the healer said to Legolas with an unflinching gaze, "He did not stand a chance. I had to try and save the others. He knew that, but I wish I had been here. Thank you for standing in my stead."_

_Legolas stared at her, saying nothing. These were people so accustomed to war and loss that the professionalism, how they were so used to it, was downright tragic._

_"He joins the rest of our family in the havens of your promises," the healer continued. Her efficient hands had already taken the boy's blanket and threw it over her shoulders, likely for use on someone else. And then she systematically relieved the corpse of its armor and weapons, handing it to a waiting soldier, also for someone else's use. And then she placed a kiss to her brother's forehead, before rising to her feet and giving the elf a long, measuring stare._

_"I will see you now," she said, walking for a corner of the space, not looking behind her if the elf was even following._

_Legolas glanced around him, as if to make sure no one else needed the doctor's services first. A soldier next to him patted his shoulder and urged him forward encouragingly. He rose to his feet with a wince, and limped after the doctor. It was what long bouts of rest did to wounded soldiers. The more one sat, the harder it was to rise up again._

_The healer commandeered a space next to the wall, a relatively private and quiet, uncluttered area. She motioned for the elf to sit down, and Legolas did so without protest, leaning against the wall as he watched the healer prepare his miscellaneous concoctions._

_"What is your name?' Legolas inquired._

_"Laure," replied the healer distractedly, "Though I cannot see what use such a thing could have for you."_

_"Your brother's?" asked Legolas._

_Laure just glanced at him, said nothing. Legolas did not press the matter. He didn't know what he wanted of the healer. Maybe he wanted… less of the numbness. To feel no grief for the dead was an abomination._

_"We do what we can," Laure said suddenly, as if reading his thoughts, "To each his own."_

_Legolas eyes watered again, reminded of Aragorn once saying to him that sadness came in many forms. In afterthought, the healer had the same hands as the Ranger's- efficient, dirtied to the nails, yet no less noble. She had eyes of the same knowing, all-seeing gaze._

_"Help me out," Laure said to the elf, "And rid yourself of the quiver and open your tunic."_

_The elf did so, and braved the healer's disapproving stare._

_"This wound hasn't been touched since it's been inflicted," said Laure with a look of disgust; not over the wound, which looked grievous enough to deserve it, but apparently over its owner's lack of responsibility. _

_"I haven't had the time," the elf winced as he shifted. The doctor busied with cleaning the area around the wound, and then the wound itself. The elf grit his teeth at the pain, and the doctor was annoyed enough not to bother with being gentle._

_"You should always make the time," Laure lectured, "I will try to stem the infection, but you are already well on your way. I can do little to stop it, but if it does happen it likely won't kill you, if you aren't as negligent as you've been. The blade had been dirty, maybe a mild poison, and your inattention only made things worse."_

_"Should I apologize?" Legolas snapped, and his breath caught when the healer ignored him and probed at the wound, strategizing her course of action. It still bled freely, and though it wasn't lethally deep, it ran long, just over the elf's waist. _

_The healer reached for a cup of foul-smelling liquid. She shoved it beneath the elf's nose. "Anesthetic."_

_Legolas shook his head. "I have it on good authority that we might be attacked. I need to be in possession of myself."_

_"I promise," said the healer, apparently used to such complaints, "It will not keep you from your duties. It will relieve you of the pain, slow you down some, I admit. But you can stay awake and fight if you will it."_

_Legolas wrinkled his nose and downed the cup in one gulp. It smelled of ale, mixed with something medicinal. It did dull the senses a little, but it was a welcome sort of numbness, not the kind that totally deprived you of yourself. He barely felt the stitches to his side, and time slowed and flowed so much for him that it was over before he knew it. He leaned against the walls heavily._

_"Potent stuff, eh?" Laure asked him with a strained smile. "Rest here awhile, master elf. I have duties to attend to."_

_Laure tucked her dead brother's blanket around the elf's shoulders before she left._

_

* * *

__Pre-Dawn Hours_

_March 3, 3019_

_

* * *

_

_The Deep was mostly asleep when he had risen from his corner to seek some food and water. _

_The elf maneuvered across the crowded healing wing, feeling sore but also refreshed. His side was still smarting, but mostly he was intent on finding nourishment. The lighting was dull, the halls were quiet. The people were either asleep, or relishing in the peace of the night, or keeping silent so as not to disturb those who needed the rest after days of flight, or for those who needed the strength to face the days of fighting yet to come._

_His footsteps were light, his balance unmatched as he skipped over arms and legs and heads and random belongings. He disturbed no one, as he searched for the kitchens. He pressed deeper into the fortress than the inner court, right into the Hornburg's heart. Here, the sentries of Theoden guarded at the doors, and only his guests and his closest council were allowed entrance._

_Gamling had done well by the King's orders of letting Legolas into the King's quarters at his leisure, and the soldiers at the doors knew at once not to question the business of the elven prince, letting him through without hesitation._

_Legolas murmured his thanks, and entered the sparse hall. He knew he was near to his goal when he sighted some wooden tables scattered about the next room, the practical dining hall. He found Gimli manning one set all to himself, sprawled on top of a table that was liberally strewn with empty glasses of ale. Legolas winced at the sight of the dwarf, the dwarf he had left to speak of the loss of Aragorn to the woman whom he guessed had loved him. Hesitantly, he stepped toward the sleeping, drunken figure and put a warm palm over his shoulder._

_"I'm sorry my friend," he murmured, "I did not find the voice, nor the courage to have to say those words aloud."_

_"Who goes there?" he heard a low, disoriented female voice mutter. He whipped around, and found another table being occupied by the formidable Lady of Rohan. Her eyes were dazed, but they were blinking to quick awareness. Her fiery hair was unkempt, and her own table had three pints of empty ale glasses to boast of. He wondered if she was drunk._

_"No," Eowyn said, as if she read his mind, as she ran her hands over her head to mat down her spirited hair. "It disarms me and helps me sleep. I was weary, but could not find rest."_

_He studied her face carefully. It was flushed, in embarrassment and with the lingering effects of liquor. She was not drunk, but she sure had come very close._

_"How may I serve you?" she asked him quietly, gathering her skirts about her as she rose to her feet. She did not waver._

_"I can find my way," he told her, "You need not bother. I'm sorry to have even disrupted you this much."_

_She shrugged, but generally ignored his rejection of her help. She waved him forward and led the way to the kitchens. "I'd cook you some fare," she said, "But the dwarf in his drunken rambling had revealed that I am quite awful at it. Rephrased by me more politely, of course. But he might have said it reminded him of the piss of some beast I've never heard of."_

_Eowyn sat on a wooden bench, watching his deft hands as he made quick and clever use of the pots and the pans. She tilted her head at him in curiosity._

_"I've never met an elf before," she said._

_He looked up from his work, smiled at her tentatively, "Do not let your experience of me taint your impression of my kin, my lady."_

_"You jest," she said, "But you know as well as I that you are quite… appreciated, here."_

_He said nothing, as he waited for the tea to come to a boil. He grabbed a piece of bread and bit on it absently. _

_"Do you know what is going to happen to us?' she asked him softly, "Our people? Here?"_

_"No," he shook his head, "I'm sorry. We've long suspected a trap. But there was little else to be done but go here anyway. We should be ready for a massive attack, within the next few days."_

_Her eyes clouded a little, and he noticed that she wasn't looking at his face when he was speaking. She was looking at the pendant of the Evenstar, which he had wound about his wrist. _

_"I thought…" she stammered, "I thought there hadn't been a body, recovered. Of Lord Aragorn's, I mean."_

_He looked down on the charm, and hid it in the folds of his sleeves. "It was found, he was not."_

_"He'd never have removed it," she continued, "He'd never have removed it for the world, I thought. It was always around his neck. He wore it with such love and such pride-"_

_He turned his back on her, not wanting to speak of these things. She noted the rebuff, and her words drifted off toward a heavy silence. He felt her eyes on his back._

_"I suppose you were very dear friends," she said._

_"He was everyone's, so he was no one's," Legolas said, lethally quietly, as he readied his tea. He wondered why he was so mad. "He is very cunning, isn't he? He works his way to your heart, and then he leaves early. Before you get sick of him."_

_She stared at him, as he pretended to sip at his drink and eat his food imperviously._

_"I suppose you loved him," Legolas said, "How well he plays this game."_

_"I do not know if I loved him," she admitted, "How do you know if you've loved? Is it if you find that he does no wrong, that there is no flaw to his character? Lord Aragorn seems this way. But there are many such great men too, and all they earn at times is loyalty and respect. Is it when you enjoy his company? I enjoyed the company of Lord Aragorn, but I've enjoyed the company of many others, even that of the dwarf. But then they are only endeared to me. Is it all of these things, determined only by time? But it's happened to people in a matter of days, sometimes years, sometimes mere hours, sometimes just in one breath. How does one know?"_

_Legolas surprised himself by knowing the answer._

Where do _we_ all go without you…?_ he had thought of Aragorn, upon that unforgettably stabbing realization of his loss._

_"Loving truly is easy," he murmured, "It is so deceptively gentle, I do not even find it can be considered a fall, rather than the brush of a hand, or the first rays of the sun that warm your face. It is so easy, it is there without your knowing precisely how. And then it hits you when it is gone, or when it teases you that it will leave you, and then you find that the future is no longer imaginable without someone, for you've set your eyes and the rest of your life around the idea that he will perpetually be there. _

_"You know you've loved," he continued as she listened intently, "When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Lovers own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all."_

_She peered at him closely. _

_And wondered who it was he spoke of._

_He blinked at her, when he began to wonder as well. And then his brows furrowed and his lips parted in wonder and dread. He realized it was not Lilian's face or her musical laughter that had prompted his answer._

To be continued…


	17. Belong to Blood

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

* * *

**PART TWO: Possibilities**

Chapter Thirteen: Belong to Blood

The Rohan Front

* * *

After a careful review and a few more negotiations and revisions, history was created by five rulers – that of the Kings of Gondor and Arnor, Rohan, and of a little-known but undoubtedly powerful Eastern tribe, a Lord of Imladris, and the Lord of the Glittering Caves – when they signed a treaty that could eventually unite the entirety of Middle-Earth in peace.

Nathaniel of the Sang-age stared at his signature and the wax seal of his Royal house, alongside those of Eomer's, Aragorn's, Elrohir's and Gimli's. "There is one thing missing," he declared.

Aragorn's brows rose. "What would that be, my lord?"  
"_Sang-age_," said Nathaniel contemplatively, "It means that we are people who belong to blood. There is blood in birth, and then in death. It is the life force that courses through your veins. And so we bear its name and we wear its colors in pride."

The two other Kings listened in earnest. Nathaniel had a weathered, interesting face and an engrossing way with storytelling. His tone felt like it belonged to an older world, and his textured voice reminded on of sun, and sand, and intoxicating heat. It was an experience listening to him speak, and it was undoubtedly wise to heed his counsel. But tales of the rich, mysterious Eastern cultures were interesting on their own, even without the considerable presence of Nathaniel or the imparting of his wisdom.

"But such devotion actually stems more from one of our oldest legends," said Nathaniel, "rather than the relationship of blood to the body. An immortal god who ruled the waters was named Darat, and he fell in love with Marin, the most beautiful mortal woman who had ever lived. The other gods convened in counsel and forbade the union; such things only promised tragedy, ultimate parting." He glanced at Aragorn, knowing the history of this King shared in some aspects of the legend. "Even the humans did not approve; the gods were respected and looked upon with awe, but also with greater fear and suspicion- the gods did what they willed, they gave but they also took.

"Now, neither Darat nor Marin listened to any of them," continued Nathaniel, "The love was too great to ignore, too entrenched to forget. The other gods coordinated with the humans, and the lovers were systematically parted. But they've always been fighters. Darat drew his knife and spilled his sacred blood into a vial. It was the first time the blood of the gods have been released into the world. It was filled with magic and enchantment, and all the longing of his love. If Marin drank it, she would share in his immortality and then they'd never have their tragedy; everyone should ultimately approve. He sent a loyal messenger named Uron on a sacred mission to get the vial to her with all haste.

"But as I said earlier," Nathaniel reminded them, "Marin was the most beautiful mortal anyone could ever lay their eyes on. Many a mortal man loved her too, and decided that the gods had everything in the world they could want, they must not take her too. The messenger Uron was a stranger in the land, it was not hard to spot him. The men killed him, but he hid the magic vial of Darat's blood before they could succeed, and no one's ever found it. Now Darat, the god of the water, waited for Marin to come to him, now turned immortal with his blood. He waited and he waited, and the gods were always patient for they lived forever. The years flew past him, and he is so intent on the wait that he forgets to bring the rain, forgets to give us the water. And so we live in a dessert. And our ancestors, once having known the land before it was acrid, went in search of the blood of Darat wherever Uron the Messenger may have hidden it: the land where the Sang-age ultimately settled and turned into their country. Marin has long been dead, but to find the blood and to return it… perhaps he'd remember us and bless us again. Or perhaps, we can offer up to him our own most beautiful mortal, to be his immortal bride in Marin's place."

Aragorn smiled at Nathaniel a little, appreciating the tale. "The Sang-age still searches for the Blood of Darat?"

Nathaniel smiled back and shrugged. "It is a child's tale, so we do not seek the vial in earnest. But we do commemorate the death of Marin with a feast each year. A feast that comes in a few weeks, as a matter of fact. But though its been relegated as fiction, all our bonds have been sealed in blood for as long as we can recall, a symbol of how our god once wished to share his own with a mortal out of love and respect, and sincere desire for union."

"I understand now what it is you ask of us," Eomer said, drawing his dagger, "To sign in blood as well."

"That is the short of it," Nathaniel said apologetically, "Forgive me. Old Kings speak more than they should. It is your misfortune."

"The tale is a fascinating one," said Elrohir soothingly, unsheathing his own dagger, "We are lucky to have heard it, especially from you, King Nathaniel."

"Our elven allies appreciate the whimsy," said Gimli, "And I must admit I was just as arrested."

The five rulers followed the practice of Nathaniel with great respect, and so their written names and wax seals were thereafter accompanied by blood prints taken from their arms. A considerable space was left in the sheafs of papers for the sign, seal and blood of Legolas for Ithilien, and Thranduil for Eryn Lasgalen. Nathaniel frowned at these empty spaces.

"You are certain your Prince will not change his mind?" he asked.

"He's never broken his word," Aragorn guaranteed, "And in the interest of time, he's gone straight to his father the King to make arrangements, rather than be here for revisions and further discussions. He will wed your daughter, make no mistake. He's even arranged for a wedding party to fetch your daughter from the East for the first of the wedding feasts to be held in his Kingdoms. He will abide by the treaty."

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes in thought, but nodded in acceptance. He studied the papers again. They made several copies, signed all of them, to ensure each had a copy and there were spare ones for records and to send out to the other tribes. The King of the Sang-age knew that at the onset, his old Eastern allies won't be too pleased with him.

"If this fails," said Nathaniel, "It will be perceived that I've completely allied myself with enemies of the East. You understand what this means, do you not?"

The occupants of the room understood that of them all, it was Nathaniel with the most to lose. If the other Eastern tribes did not follow suit, Nathaniel was a traitor to them. His lands, his people, would be deemed as enemies. Pillaged, enslaved, killed… The risks were enormous, the massacre unimaginable.

"This will work," Eomer said tightly, thinking, _if only because it _has _to._

* * *

Elrohir watched Aragorn, Eomer and Nathaniel ride South toward Gondor along with their respective entourages. He breathed a prayer wishing them luck. The odds were with them, he reflected, the Easterlings had to play this smart. Peace while retaining their properties, averting more killing, especially with their weakened forces, was a greater concession than anyone could possibly hope for.

"Master elf," said Gimli, "You don't think Aragorn is getting sick of me, is he?"

Elrohir smiled down at the dwarf. Once again, his request to ride with Aragorn was politely declined. "I'm sure that is not the case, Master dwarf. He sees the best use of you elsewhere, and to Aragorn, in matters of life and country, his pleasures are sacrificed for the better of all. Including the pleasure of your company. Besides," Elrohir smirked, glancing up at the impervious Lothlorien Marchwarden who was standing with them, "We are to go into the Far East toward greater danger, and your spirit and ingenuity are unparalleled so we have greater need of you. Not to mention the fact that you're comfortable traveling with elves."

"Well yes," said Gimli, thumbing in Haldir's direction, "But not with that one."

Elrohir shook his head in amusement. Well that mix in particular won't be the strangest one. He, Haldir and Gimli were heading a party of five Easterling soldiers and the young Adriano, and then six Gondorian soldiers also traveling with them. The mix was probably volatile, but Elrohir decided he's always lived a charmed life, so he'd try his luck here too.

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS! thanks so much once again to those who read and especially to those who review and help keep the fic alive. double post again; i know this chapter is short and i'd hate for you to feel short-changed in that you waited for something so long and it's so inadequate. anyway, have fun and watch out for the next few chapters. we'll be following Elrohir's treaty to the East, and more of what happens between Legolas and Aragorn too. so stay tuned, haha. Thanks so much and 'TIL THE NEXT POST!


	18. Interlude 5: Stricken

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

* * *

**PART TWO: Possibilities**

_Interlude 5_

_The __Two__Towers__: Stricken_

_Mid-Morning_

_Helm's Deep,_

_March 3, 3019_

_

* * *

_

_He came back somehow, and by the harried look of his battered body it might have been some kind of a wild story to tell. But the moment his name graced the batting tongues of the fortress, there seemed little else that mattered over the fact that he was alive and managed to restore himself to them._

_Eowyn was tending to the wounded, and handing out food that she had to assure her people that she did not cook for them to reluctantly take, when the group she was serving stared over her shoulder in awe._

_"Lord Aragorn," they whispered, and she whipped around to find that a ghost had indeed walked into the fortress and was making his way toward the King's hall in the burg when he was accosted by his friend, the elf._

_The two men stared at each other for a long moment, and seemed grateful and satisfied, for the fates that allowed them to just stand there quietly before each other. And then the elf's clouded eyes shielded their considerable revelations and the love deeply lodged in their depths with the veil of a foreign-tongued barb. Eowyn did not understand the words, but it made the _adan_ smile and laugh._

_She froze in her tracks, watching the exchange. And then it took on a different tone when the elf revealed he had Aragorn's pendant of shimmering silver and stone, and love undying. The elf placed the pendant over the man's palm, tentatively, as if he feared to touch the other's skin. Legolas looked resolute, but his hands seemed to hesitate with the release of the charm, seemed to hesitate giving back to Aragorn the reminders of _the woman who gave him the jewel

_She held her ground, and watched the two of them walk away. Thanks to the conversation she had with the elf some hours ago, she knew how it was to know if one already loved. And she knew too what the elf surely knows _now: _he's just been struck by the plague of it himself._

* * *

_As Aragorn conferred with Theoden, Legolas found himself drifting back to the healer's quarters in search of that spiked drink of Laure's; the wound was smarting, and there was going to be a battle of epic proportions ahead. He decided Aragorn could use some too._

_The familiar and unfortunately depressing sight of the healing wing was awash with activity. The preparation of the dead lorded over one corner. All who were dying the night previous had passed over, and room had to be made for the others sure to come as soon as the new battle begins. Limping, bleeding warriors were trying to escape or trying to get the doctors to release them, and their wives and children voiced their complaints and prohibitions. _

_It was almost comical; the wounded soldiers were trailing doctors who were busy shooting from one end of the room to the other with their pleas, and the women and children who loved them in turn followed in their footfalls with complaints. It made for a very noisy, busy parade._

_"You know what," Laure sighed, looking at one particularly noisy soldier in consternation, "If you can make such a nuisance of yourself following me when I'm trying to work, you can fight the orc. Go, for god's sakes, try not to go back here."_

_"You're going to kill him!" the wife of the victorious soldier exclaimed, except it was drowned by the renewed vigor of the other soldiers who were also trying to get Laure to release them for the battle ahead._

_Legolas__ cut clear across the crowds. It seemed to him that they were regarding him as That Strange Elf Again, and were going to let him do whatever he pleased. He pulled up alongside the healer._

_"We need to speak," he said._

_Laure__ looked at him, relieved for the rescue as the wounded soldiers and their dependents backed away and focused their attentions on someone else._

_"What can I do for you?" Laure asked, as she sorted out herbs and prepared medicines. Distractedly, she said, "I wish we had more time. I have a feeling these won't be enough."_

_"I'm afraid," Legolas winced, "I'm afraid I'd have to deplete them some more, doctor." He then decided not to take any for himself, he's probably already had more than his share yesterday. Besides, an elf can weather wounds on their own and without medicinal aid much better than humans could._

_Laure__ looked at him. The glassy eyes and the sheen of sweat was indication enough. There was also some tremble to the elf's movements. She reached over and enclosed her hands about Legolas' warm neck, felt his fevered skin._

_"I did promise you that infection was at hand," the healer said dispassionately, as she readied a cup of the same concoction she gave Legolas the day before. "I suppose I can't convince you to stay here either, so I will save my breath. But you should know as a seasoned warrior, that the more hurt you are going out there, the harder you'll find it to defend yourself, and the likelihood that you will get hurt further only increases." She handed Legolas the drink, and waited expectantly for him to drink it._

_"It's for someone else," Legolas admitted at last._

_The healer frowned. "I've heard about our heroic returnee. Drink that, and then tell your friend to come see me."_

_"His duties are making it impossible," the elf said._

_"Drink it," Laure sighed, preparing another cup for the elf to bring with him. "We're not so short of supplies that our best warriors cannot have adequate treatment. I suspect we need your strength more out there, than we have need of medicine in here."_

_Hesitating a little, Legolas drank the preparation and accepted the next cup gratefully. "I will try to bring him here. But it's near to hopeless."_

_Laure__ glanced at the throng of soldiers who were waiting for her to be free of the elf and press upon her attentions, to let them out of her sight for a fight._

_"Tell me about it," she said wryly, turning from the elf and letting herself be harassed. The tragedy over all of it was that she knew, if she let them out of his sight, they'll likely return to her as corpses._

_

* * *

__Afternoon__

* * *

_

_Legolas had given the medicinal concoction to Aragorn in the King's Hall where the elf caught up to him as he apprised Theoden of the situation._

_Aragorn's brow quirked suspiciously at the elf, wordlessly asking if he was _literally_ being given a dose of his own medicine, drinking something that would put him to sleep._

_"Do not do unto others as you do not want them to do unto you, eh?" Legolas murmured at him, giving him a slight wink. "I will just ask you to trust me."_

_The _adan_ found the emotional blackmail unconquerable. Stifling a grin, he took the cup from Legolas' hands and finished it in one gulp. And then as the medicine worked its anesthetic magic, his grin spread wider as the pain vanished from his haggard face._

_'Thank you,' he said to Legolas in deep gratitude, for the second time that day, before turning his attention to Theoden completely. _

_They studied a model of the fortress, discussed their options before walking out of the hall for a field survey. They planned the placements of the soldiers alongside the Theoden, and thereafter busied themselves with the rest of the afternoon, assisting with the evacuation of those unable to fight into the caves. _

_A weary Legolas trailed after Aragorn, aiding people and urging them forward as he passed them. He realized that if a single wound, grievous though it was, medicine and a night's rest was still wearing him down, even with his elven capacity, the _adan_ must be feeling like the walking dead._

_"Take some rest, Aragorn," Legolas said from behind him, "You are no good to us half-alive."_

_He was not met by a reply, and he did not push the matter further, especially after he sighted a purposeful Eowyn making her way toward them. He backed down, not wanting to be within range of her ire, and not wanting to face her after the realizations of the night past; she was perceptive, and he felt naked before her gaze, especially standing with Aragorn, the man they both apparently loved. It's not that he disliked her, or regarded her as a rival. Just as he did not regard the Evenstar as a rival. The three of them… they weren't adversaries. It was far more fair to say they shared in the same misfortune._

_Legolas__ listened to her make her argument to a helpless Aragorn, before she walked away in a huff. The elf looked at the man's slumped shoulders as he watched her retreating back. He wondered if he shared her affections._

_"Aragorn, come," Legolas insisted beside him, "Take rest, and have those cuts and bruises seen to. You will acquire more tonight, I guarantee you won't miss them for too long."_

_Aragorn shook his head at him in mock dismay. "Your barbs are irreverent, my friend. Have you no mercy for a wounded man?"_

_"Mercy, yes," Legolas said, taking Aragorn by the arm and steering him toward the inner courts, "Patience, no."_

_

* * *

_

_Legolas managed to distract Aragorn long enough to keep him immobile in the healing wing until the setting of the sun and the coming of early evening. But none of them could defy the feelings of the coming of the battle, and the atmosphere in the Keep was as tightly wrought as the cackling, electric of the air just before the onslaught of a terrible storm._

_Even the elf could keep still only for so long. "I'm going to the arms room," he declared to his two friends, the three of them seated side by side along the length of a stone wall, "I need to see if I can acquire some more arrows." Gripping at the walls as discreetly as he could, he pushed himself up. _

Shouldn't have sat down for so long_, he scolded himself. The more one rested, the harder it was to get up again._

_"I'm coming with you," the dwarf said, rising to his feet, "See about finding some better armor."_

_"You should have done that earlier," Legolas told him mildly._

_"Well you were sitting there singing and pointing at strange, random things," retorted Gimli, "I lost track of the time."_

_"I was trying to distract him," Legolas said of Aragorn, wryly, "Not you."_

_"Well you should have made your efforts more specialized," said Gimli grudgingly, "You've effectively arrested the attention of half the room. You elves think we all have all the time in the world. Terribly unproductive race-"_

_Aragorn snickered at them, rising to his feet as well. The bickering was going to get more exciting, the closer they came to the battle. The two warriors were anxious for a fight, or perhaps that was wrong- they merely despised waiting._

_"Wait one minute, lad," Gimli said to the _adan_, cutting off his own tirade, "What are you doing? He and I can leave, not you. You look like the dead."_

_"I'm sufficiently rested," Aragorn argued._

_"Learn to delegate more, boy," Gimli said, attempting a rather terrible impression of being gravely offended, "Do you not trust us to look after things?"_

_"If I don't prepare," said Aragorn, stretching his body, "I won't last a breath out there."_

_"You know the _edain_ need serious winding up, Master dwarf," said Legolas, "It's those old bones of theirs. They get stiff with misuse. I believe you and I are more flexible."_

_"Don't the two of you gang up on me," Aragorn said easily, leading the way as the three of them made for the armory. The Keep by now was easier to maneuver around, for no one stood by who had no business there. Only soldiers mulled about, no more women and children._

_'They are very lonely folk, aren't they?' Legolas murmured to Aragorn in Elvish, as he stared at the weathered faces of the people of Rohan. They were survivors, in this country. Not particularly spirited, but they trudged on. They managed forward. It was not hard to believe that after tonight's battle, be it in victory or in defeat, some of them will walk away from Helm's Deep and bring the blood of the Rohirrim to the future._

_But in the meantime, it was a god's promise that many will fall first. The elf thought back to that scene he had walked into last evening, in the healing wing with the lines of men waiting to die. _

Will I be amongst them_, he wondered, glancing at the two fellows who walked with him_, Will they?

_The idea was unfathomable. Aragorn's only just returned, fate wouldn't be so unkind. _

Would it?

_'They are strong,' Aragorn said of Legolas' comments about the people of Rohan. _

_They walked on. The crowds thickened as they neared the arms rooms. Men that were too old and boys that were too young peppered the folds, emerging with oversized, still-bloodied armor and old, rusted weapons. _

_The warrior's anxiety was quickly fading from the elf, to be replaced by a sense of dread. There was no challenge here. They were going to be massacred. The sensation was akin to walking into a room full of ghosts, in the sense that the men in the room were barely _there_- eyes blank, movements mechanical. They grew up in an age of war, and were of soldier-country. This meant they knew the arts of war, knew their way around a weapon. But acute warrior's knowledge should have also given them an idea of how to _count_, count their numbers, that of their enemies, and the odds of living past them._

_The spirits of Gimli beside him was waning just as much, and though Aragorn's face was carefully placid, Legolas has known him long enough to hear what his silver eyes were dying to say._

_"Farmers," Aragorn said in a low, displeased tone, finally unable to keep his silence, "Farriers, stable boys. These are no soldiers."_

_"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli added._

_"Or too few," Legolas said, breathlessly and inexplicably annoyed. Or perhaps, it was no great mystery. The room was stifling him with its ultimate, brutal future. A room of dead eyes and dead men. Was he already amongst them, without knowing so? Were those he loved to die as well? For what set them apart, truly? He was regarding others as dead as if he wasn't going to be one amongst them, just another body, just another life waiting to extinguish. They all stood behind the same Wall, stood for the same cause. The enemy wanted all of them equally dead. He was not exempt. Nor was Gimli, or Aragorn. His heart pounded, and it was difficult to breathe when all these thoughts were locked inside his body. Besides, the running fever was tiring him, the smarting wound was wearing him down. It was hard enough to keep standing, to be ready for battle, without having to valiantly try to keep one's mouth shut too. The fever was making him dreadfully more honest, something he might regret later but needed to do now. _

_"Look at them," Legolas implored his friends, his tone so low and scornful he might have meant, _Look at me_. "They are frightened…"_

Just as I am frightened_…_

_"You can see it in their eyes," his words caught the attention of the room, and all sounds died out as the makeshift soldiers turned toward him._

_Aragorn was not appreciating the pronouncement, and especially not the attention. He glanced around him nervously as Legolas continued, in his own tongue, 'And they should be,' said the elf, 'Three hundred… against ten thousand…?'_

_'They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras,' Aragorn pointed out, quite uselessly to the elf's ear. Here, there… it didn't seem to matter. If anything, the move had only delayed the inevitable._

_'They cannot win this fight,' Legolas predicted darkly, 'They are all going to die.'_

We_, his mind corrected, _We are all going to die…

_"Then I shall die as one of them!" Aragorn retorted._

I know_, Legolas thought achingly, _That's the cursed bloody problem

_Aragorn stalked away, having realized he had said the words in the language the people could understand, and that the blanks were not hard to fill. He was going to be one of their commanders, and he'd just written off all of them for dead._

_Legolas made a step to follow, but the dwarf pressed a palm to his arm, keeping him where he was._

_"Let him go, lad," said Gimli, "Let him be."_

_"I cannot-" Legolas began, except the dwarf readjusted his hold and unknowingly grazed at the elf's wound, such that he lost his breath and froze in his tracks for a moment. By the time he recovered it enough to have the strength and inclination to move forward, the crowds that had parted for Aragorn's exit covered up the space he had left._

_

* * *

_

I should not blame him_, Aragorn mused, as he readied his armor and his weapons. He returned to the armory when it had completely emptied, to continue his stunted preparations from earlier._

Perhaps he is feeling stuck_, Aragorn reflected_, The elves have no place here. Not in the midst of death. Not to fight for an Earth that they will soon leave. Not to die for a people who cared little for them.

So what are you doing here_? he wondered of Legolas, _What makes one like you, with so many better chances at life, with such light feet that can traverse the world at a whim, stay?

_His blood had long since cooled. He did not mean to retort, to dismiss, to walk away. But the elf's words stabbed like mistrust, and the hopelessness was terribly contagious. And he had to admit, he was wearier than he preferred, both in mind and body. And heart. _

Hard to forget that one_, he thought wryly._

_People looked to him to know what to do, he mused. And then his own friend had doubted. Or perhaps, Legolas was only speaking the truth, which was probably worse than a friend's lack of faith. He was stung by the truthfulness of Legolas. To hear these truths that he himself knew deep within him said aloud, was giving it a reality that could no longer be dismissed._

_No one had said it aloud, he remembered, how they were all in for a massacre. No one but Legolas. But they all knew, no one had argued it, though they had looked upon the elf as a villain for saying it. It shouldn't have been a surprise, for in such bad times the most accessible villain was probably the bearer of the truth._

I should make peace_ he thought to himself, _Battle comes. We may not have a chance, after tonight.

What makes you stay…?_ He wondered again, as he sought his sword to finish his warring attire. He found the table emptied, and he glanced up to find the friend who had occupied his thoughts was looking at him shyly, earnestly, offering him his sword. His lips parted in surprise, and almost blurted out his question before the elf unwittingly answered it anyway, by his eyes and his words._

_"We've trusted you this far," said Legolas apologetically, "You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."_

_'There is nothing to forgive, Legolas.'_

There is only a war to be won_, Aragorn thought_, for I would hate to disappoint your eyes. They look to me as if I alone could change the face of the Earth.

When it comes from you_, Aragorn realized_, it seems so true.

_Just as in Legolas' voicing of his disappointment and hopelessness earlier that night, Aragorn felt he was a failure. And then by his words and his eyes, the elf had managed to restore his spirits._

You stay for your trust in me_, Aragorn thought fervently, _And I will win if only that I may not disappoint you.

To be continued…


	19. The Nature of Love and War

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

* * *

**PART TWO: Possibilities**

Chapter Fourteen: The Nature of Love and War

The Road East

* * *

In the interest of appearing impartial, Elrohir commanded the Eastern soldiers to form a single line, and the Western soldiers another single line, and these two lines traveled parallel to each other, side by side.

Elrohir had thought the job was going to be a difficult one, but he didn't think he'd encounter such adverse reactions even with just _filing out_ of the Rohan camp.

The thing was, the Western soldiers tended to band together, and the Eastern ones kept to themselves as well. The question in that case then, was which group to put in the rear or in front. When the Easterlings were put to the rear, they said it was unfairly riskier for them, and besides, the Men of the West did not trust their old foes with covering their backs. When the positions were reversed, they pretty much gave the same arguments, except they swapped positions.

Elrohir's eyes nearly crossed with his ire. "You are soldiers, damn it," he told them darkly, and at the sight of the rising of his considerable elven temper, they were going to follow when Elrohir grudgingly ordered them into the single-file position they were currently employing. It was strategically unquestionable, and no one was going to explicitly say that they were afraid of who they'd be riding beside, or wanted better company.

_Besides_, Elrohir thought wryly, _The travel will be much quieter this way_. He also thought that breaking up the cliques will keep them from plotting against each other or pointedly leaving out the other group; they might even learn to speak, to get along. They'd all have to, eventually, if the treaty pushes through.

Elrohir, Haldir and Gimli headed the two single-man lines. The dwarf rode with Elrohir at the moment, though the impervious Mr. Gimli pretty much shifted riding parties at whim and will. The only rider he was apparently used to tolerating for a long time was the absent Legolas.

"I cannot believe I am picking up pointy ear's wife," he grumbled, shifting in the saddle, thoughtful.

Haldir's forehead creased. Upon being apprised of the situation before the beginning of the journey, he was stunned and saddened to have heard that Lilian died a few years ago.

"He loved Lilian so much," Haldir said quietly, shaking his head in marvel, "And to wed her murderers… What must be going on inside his heart, I wonder."

"I imagine the first thing he's to do," said Elrohir, "is speak with King Thranduil about all of this. I imagine Legolas' father won't be much pleased with a half-Eastern future heir to Eryn Lasgalen. But then," the elf sighed, "He's always been a bit of a progressive. Legolas' eastern alliance will expand their territories, multiply their riches, create new commerce opportunities, give them new constituents. It might not be so bad."

"But elves carry anger to the depths of the Earth," Haldir argued, "And the King is the least of his problems. He'd have to contend with his people as well. Mirkwood was particularly war-ravaged, being so near to the enemy. They'd have crossed blades with the Easterlings. They'd have come so close to each other you can smell them. Many elves died preserving that Kingdom, and then the Prince weds one of _them_."

Gimli shook his head in dismay. "Why would Legolas want to do any of these things? Such headaches…"

Elrohir thought back to the conversation he had with said elf some days ago.

_"I curse the fates," Legolas had said, "Elves should have kept to elves and mortals to mortals. Friendships and loves were not made to cross these lines, they only guarantee tragedy. Who were we to think we could escape destiny? Or perhaps we were all too short-sighted. We sacrificed our hearts and our futures for immediate and short-lived gratifications. Foolish."_

"You are right," Elrohir said grimly, "Such headaches. And I know not how he came to this decision of his. I haven't felt… I don't feel that he has so fierce a love for this land, lately, to merit this sacrifice."

Haldir glanced sidelong at him. "I've noticed the same."

"He has love," Gimli argued, cryptically, "It's just for… for something else." He did not elaborate on what he meant. Instead, he set his jaws and diverted the subject. "I am thinking perhaps I've failed him as a friend, somehow."

"And how did you come to this ridiculous thought, Master Dwarf?" the former Marchwarden asked him.

"He has no one to speak with," Gimli replied, "I've not been around enough, I suppose."

"Neither has he," Elrohir pointed out, "I see no reason for you to feel guilt over this, _mellon-nin_. Our lives have diverged. Much as we may not want to believe it. When your Fellowship parted, you must have known that somehow, you will never come together in the same way again."

"I know," said Gimli, glumly, "It's just that he seems as if he is so alone."

* * *

They camped after a full day's ride.

The longer they traveled, the more comfortable the atmosphere became between the former adversaries. Not that they found much to speak of or bond over; it was probably just that the length of the road was making tension impractical and tiring.

They built a campfire, and sat around it randomly, man from the East finding himself sitting next to one from the West, sitting beside an elf, beside a dwarf… it made for a very strange-looking camp, but hardly an uncomfortable one.

The young Adriano, who wasn't a soldier, was tasked by Nathaniel as the main emissary and therefore outranked all the other Eastern soldiers. But he took careful charge of making the meals, and was diplomatic enough to have made enough for everyone, instead of just for his countrymen. The ranking Western soldier, Tadeo, looked over his shoulder as he worked, to ensure no poisoning or other suspicious activity. Adriano glared at him hotly for a long moment, before deciding Tadeo might as well be useful and shared the work with him. The duo made for the best tasting camp-broth any in the group had ever tasted.

Elrohir watched the interplay with a light in his eye, right over the fire which another tandem of East and West had helped create. Things weren't so bad, he mused. Peace can be made to work.

"What is Princess Nadina like?" Elrohir asked the Easterling beside him, an aging guard named Jonah.

The old man's face broke into a quick smile, as if a flash of Nadina's memory crossed his mind. "Beautiful."

Gimli smirked. "Well let no one accuse you of being very wordy, old man. What sort of woman is she? Can she cook? Can she fight?" his tone took on a bit of intensity, without his knowing. He wasn't quite aware that he was trying to get information on his best friend's wife-to-be. "Is she a good mother? I heard she has a son…"

The conversation was intriguing the Western soldiers as well, and they turned their attention intently upon the Easterlings. They knew nothing of the woman their much-celebrated Legolas was to wed.

"She is a wonderful woman," Adriano answered for his group, "Dark hair, clear blue eyes and golden skin. She is colored like the dessert; open blue skies, golden sands and shadows. She has a smile that can make a man believe he owns the world." He hesitated. "One that we've not had the pleasure of seeing in a long while."

"Why is that?" Elrohir asked.

"Of the dead one should speak no ill," Adriano said, "But… but to answer your question the only way that I can, master elf… I served as valet to Prince Nicolo who is Nadina's brother and her husband's general, so I've seen much. King Danielli is a great warrior, but there is only so much of one man to go around, you see. Her husband was not with her much. And in the times that he was, his love is… it is not very conventional, or easy to note. Some might even say, that he did not quite know how to love her." Adriano's voice took on a more edgy tone, "Which means that her marriage to your elven prince should not be much different from what she is accustomed to."

Gimli, in defense of his dear friend, felt rightfully slighted. "Legolas knows how to love, lad. More than you can possibly know."

"He cannot love her," argued Adriano, "He hates all of us. A hater cannot know how to love, it doesn't make any sense. I wouldn't even be surprised if he went and killed her. But far be it for me to question the wisdom of King Nathaniel in giving the Prince his own daughter. It is not my place."

"You people once killed the only woman he had ever loved," Gimli pointed out, bristling, "The only person he'd have been able to spend the rest of the eternity of his life with. You'd hate yourself too."

"We've killed his woman," Jonah said, "Perhaps. But certainly he's killed husbands and sons and fathers of our country too. Such is the nature of war. He has no right to despise us."

"But such is the nature of love," Haldir argued, "To hate that which destroys what the heart longs to protect."

"Nevertheless," Elrohir said, "We see by this alliance that such things have been put aside for the greater good. For love or for hate, past is past and we are all in a position to save our futures, now. It is not an opportunity we should lose."

Adriano stared at them thoughtfully. "You all have fierce respect for this elven prince of yours. Fierce love, even."

"We've only ever known him as a foe," Jonah said, brows furrowing, "A foe of the grandest sort. I was there that day he took on a _mumakil_ and all that it bore. I couldn't believe my eyes. He is a great warrior, and we appreciate that he is now in our fold. You say in a way that is so fiery and believable that we can trust him. But can we trust him with Nadina's heart?"

"She is our muse," said another Easterling, sounding besotted, "She is Marin resurrected. She is the dessert…"

"Legolas will treat her with the respect she deserves," Elrohir promised them, "I do not know if he has the heart to make her smile. That price is much more steep."

"Can _she_ make him happy?" Gimli asked in return.

"Nadina can make anyone happy," Jonah boasted, "She grew up under my watchful eye. A beautiful child with a kind heart."

"I hope so," Gimli muttered, though of course he was skeptical. He knew for a certainty that Legolas' heart and happiness belonged elsewhere. It was lodged in a place where the elf himself could not reach it nor remove it and channel his desires elsewhere. But by the gods, did he deserve to be happy. Gimli just didn't think Legolas could find it in this lifetime.

_I may be thickheaded_, he thought to himself, _I may be accused of being obtuse. But I was never blind nor deaf._

The dwarf knew why Legolas was pushing through with the treaty, underlined though it was by an alliance with a race he so profoundly hated. It was because to push through with the treaty, to kill his hate, showed his greatest love too… Now as a dwarf, and even for so candid a race he was particularly blunt, even for him, it was that one thing he dared not voice.

_Legolas does this for his love of Aragorn_, Gimli thought, experimentally. He's never phrased it quite so plainly, even in the silence of his own contemplations. It seemed forbidden to believe, and it was a dangerous guess. Dangerous because in his heart he knew it to be absolutely true. All three of them knew it to be true, except they never once spoke of it explicitly, so dangerous were these words. But they all knew it. Just as they all knew they shouldn't speak of it, because it ultimately would come to nothing. It was useless, and hurtful, to waste breath and words on impossibilities.

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS! thanks so so so much for the c&c's. thanks also to those who took the time to read. As long as you're around, I think I can keep this thing going haha, so MASSIVE thanks to all of you! oh and by the way, another two chapter post. have fun and 'TIL THE NEXT POST:)

to abernaith: haha, i know, it's slow. i meant for it to be, because i couldn't find the appropriate transition. i'm trying to make it gradual, kind of slow but sure because i'd hate for my readers to feel like it's suddenness is like being tossed into frigid waters. i fear the perception of being unnatural because this is my first a/l so i'm being very careful. also, i have a thing for slow-burning, indulgent and more quiet, intimate kind of romances. nothing too explicit, nothing really really said or shown but still palpable. anyway, you'll see in the next few chapters that we're finally getting somewhere, haha. i hope you don't fall asleep in the meantime haha :)


	20. Interlude 6: Open Your Eyes

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

* * *

**PART TWO: Possibilities**

_Interlude 6_

_The __Two __Towers__: Open Your Eyes_

_Helm's Deep_

_March 4, 3019_

_Early Morning_

_

* * *

_

_The __Battle__ for Helm's Deep is over, the wizard had said._

_Gimli did not think the assessment was a very fair one. Warriors' battles were done, yes, that was true enough. But the hands of healers were quite full and they teamed up with ailing bodies, jointly warring with the calling of the Earth, the calling of dust and death._

_They all won over the Uruk assault, and he was somehow unsurprised. Despite the desperate fight from dusk 'til dawn, something made him believe that victory was not so far away. The dwarf wondered when it was that he's become so optimistic._

_The halls were crowded again, for the women and children have emerged from the caves and were busy with work. Many of them served as nurses in the makeshift healing wings, although a greater majority have persuaded their men to rest and recover, as they busied themselves with preparing the dead and clearing and cleaning the Keep. Besides, this way, they could find their loved ones who had fallen._

_After that last charge before their definitive victory, Gimli found himself without the company of Aragorn or Legolas. He remembered being hungry, and dashing off for the kitchens. Eowyn was there, overseeing the food rations and the cooking. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him being alive and well._

_"What can we do for our dwarven hero?" she asked him indulgently._

_He looked at her suspiciously. If he asked for some food, would she give him that vile cooking of hers…?_

_She smirked, reading his expression. "No need to be coy now, Lord Gimli. You've already told me yesterday that my fare is fairly lethal. I decided my best service is probably to keep from cooking."_

_"I said that?" he asked, frowning._

_"Oh yes," she nodded earnestly, preparing him a cup of stew. "And don't dare apologize now," she smiled, handing him the food._

_"I wasn't going to," Gimli said, smelling the food and grinning in anticipation. "I'm quite relieved, actually."_

_She chuckled, before going back to her work, pouring stew on cups and bowls and placing them on trays which children spirited away to the tired troops._

_"You are in good spirits," the dwarf commented, sitting on a stool across from her table and watching her work. "It is good to see you smiling."_

_Eowyn glanced up at him from her busy hands. "We've not had a victory in a long while. I know we've incurred heartbreaking losses too, but we won, somehow. Rohan lives. It seems to me that the very breath you, Lords Aragorn and Legolas, and Master Gandalf came into our lands, all became well again."_

_"It's probably just because of me," Gimli said, winking at her._

_"Speaking of thy companions," she said, "I ran into Lord Aragorn earlier. But I've not had a chance to inquire of the others. Since your heart seems light as well, it is safe to assume they are well?"_

_"I was just with them," Gimli replied, "They were weary but they were on their feet. A warrior could ask for few grander things than that, after so fierce a battle. Aragorn lends his hands to the healers, and Legolas went to the stables to see to his horse. That infernal beast Arod sustained considerable injuries in that final charge."_

_"Well," Eowyn said, "Just make sure they take rest and eat as well. Such things as the activities you've described can be taken care of by the women, and we are all well rested and willing to help. You need all the rest you can get; my brother told me you will be making for Isengard in a couple of hours."_

_"Ah, yes," said the dwarf, "Give that terrible Saruman a piece of our minds." He finished his broth and rose to a makeshift sink to wash it for its next user. He dried it with a rag and handed it to her._

_"Thank you, my lady," said the dwarf._

_"Do you need anything else?" she asked._

_"No," Gimli replied, as he made his exit, "No thank you."_

_

* * *

__Noon__

* * *

_

_Aragorn stared at his hands as he sat on his haunches, taking a quick break from his healing duties. It was a testament to his weariness that he was quite unfocused, and his spinning mind was flying in all sorts of directions…_

"Legolas!" he had yelled innumerable hours before in the heat of a hideously uneven battle, having sighted a particularly menacing Uruk bearing a fiery torch toward the Outer Wall of Helm's Deep, 'Kill him!'

The archer was an attentive one, at least, particularly toward Aragorn. It seemed that the man's voice and his presence was so potent that it lorded over everything else. He was always there, always ready with his notched arrow.

"Kill him!"

And the shaft flew true to its wielder and struck the Uruk. But its skin was tough, and it staggered but went along its path, unhindered.

"Kill him!" he felt the desperation in his voice. The sound was unfamiliar.

And then once again, the arrow met its mark. But their foe was sturdily built, and one moment he was in line of their sight, the next the Outer all exploded from beneath their feet.

The blast threw him off to the Outer Court. It might have been a monumental fall, except his mind was reeling so badly he did not notice anything over the ringing of his ears. Darkness tore at his vision, and he remembered a long moment of having been lost to the inky blackness, before he shot awake with the sudden remembrance of his now dramatically increased responsibilities.

The dark forces have broken through the Outer Wall of Helm's Deep. They've made it inside. Stemming the stream of their foes was akin to plugging the flow of the sea with one's bare hands. There was no stopping the assault. As a commander, he knew full well that they had to narrow the sphere of their defense.

The call for a retreat could not have come at a later moment. He heard the King of Rohan's order, and immediately tore across the Keep exclaiming the same.

"Haldir!" he had called upon the elven commander, still stalwartly holding his own. His call for a retreat was properly acknowledged with a nod, though any real action toward the order from Haldir was soon ceased by a strike that brought him to his knees.

"Haldir!" Aragorn exclaimed, shooting forward, catching the golden elf as he fell toward the ground, eyes empty. His heart thundered in his ears as he stared at the elf's face. He blinked, and for a breath he thought that Haldir's face belonged to someone else.

Legolas, he thought, and his grasp of the Marchwarden's shoulders tightened as his heart jerked at the thought that blonde and dirty and misplaced amidst death, Haldir looked too much like the Mirkwood elf.

He blinked again, and Haldir's face was restored to Aragorn's reality. "Dear gods," he said under his breath, winded, unsure suddenly of what all this meant, of what he was to do with himself.

His warrior's senses pricked, and he turned to look behind him to find he was on the loosing end of an Uruk death-charge. He reached for his sword fruitlessly and was bracing for death, when the Uruk stopped mid-swing and fell to the ground, brought down by a pair of white knives.

"Legolas," Aragorn said, a bit of at a loss.

"You're all right?" the elf asked, and Aragorn nodded. But he looked down at Haldir with far less optimism.

The Mirkwood elf glanced at the body Aragorn was embracing too. "He looks like death," he said quietly, "But he lives still, for now. Retreat and bring him with you. I will take command of his post. We will cover your back." With barely a breath to spare, he turned away from the _adan_ and said to his fellow elven soldiers in their native tongue, 'Close quarters! Cover and retreat…!'

_Something fell._

_Aragorn jumped, returning to the reality of the bustling healing wing around him. The battle was over. His friends were alive. Even Haldir's fought for survival. As a matter of fact, the said elf was lying on a low cot before Aragorn, grave-looking but very much alive and seemingly determined to remain so._

_"I'm sorry," he heard a familiar voice say. It was Legolas. "I'm very sorry about that…"_

_"Pay it no mind, Master Elf," this time it was Eomer, the celebrated Rohan soldier who was the King's nephew, "they have lots more where that came from."_

_Aragorn rose to his feet and looked for the source of the commotion. He found Eomer and Legolas at the entrance to the wing. The King's nephew had a secure hand about the elf's elbow, steering him forward and keeping him upright. The elf with him looked uneasy and embarrassed, reluctant to move forward from a jar of water he had apparently knocked over._

_"Come along," Eomer insisted, "Someone will take care of that." Legolas let himself be steered to a corner, where he was deposited slowly to sit. The elf seemed a bit… a bit _absent_, for lack of a better term. His gaze was empty, not as intent as they usually were. _

_Aragorn's brows rose, but he walked coolly toward them. "Legolas?" he inquired worriedly._

_"Oh, hello Aragorn," said the elf, pale face breaking into a tired, slightly embarrassed smile. "Have you any time, strength and inclination to spend on another poor fellow?"_

_"I saw him aiding the recovery of the dead," Eomer explained to Aragorn, "saying special sorts of prayers for his fallen kin. He seemed bloodied and weary, but then we all were. He stumbled once, fell to a knee. And then he could no longer regain his feet."_

_"I would have," Legolas murmured, "If I had a bit more time."_

_"We were just together," Aragorn said thoughtfully, "You were on your feet, fighting ferociously. And then celebrating a victory." _

_Legolas shrugged, unsure of what to say about that._

_Aragorn glanced up at the skies out the window. The sun was higher up than he remembered it being when he first entered the healing wing to offer his services, and he belatedly realized that had actually been some hours ago._

_"I suppose that is the particular phenomenon of battle raging in the veins," Eomer replied, "You must have had it once before. You know, how the body fails with its hurts only when it is no longer needed to fight. I think you are strengthened by a similar capacity right now, actually. By the look of you, you must be taken off your feet as well."_

_"Later," Aragorn said distractedly, "I must see to him first."_

_"Well do not forget to do so," said Eomer, "I'd hate to see you fall. I have great respect for those warriors who helped protect my countrymen though for all other purposes you should not even be here, much less shedding your blood for us. I am grateful. You were here even before I was. You fought and led in my stead." To the elf, he said, "Get well, friend."_

_"This is all quite unnecessary," Legolas said softly, "I know we all have far better things to do…"_

_"Thank you," Aragorn said to Eomer, interrupting Legolas, "The elf is hurt and therefore irate and impolite. Had he been in a better frame of mind, he'd have had the decency to say 'thank you' instead."_

_Legolas sneered at Aragorn halfheartedly as Eomer exited the room. Aragorn looked him over carefully._

_The elf suffered the survey miserably. He averted his gaze and shifted in his seat, profoundly uneasy. The silver eyes were always very perceptive. _

_Aragorn stepped forward and knelt before the elf. His warm healer's hands sought that of the archer's, and found them cold and clammy. He frowned, apparently displeased. His hands then made their knowing way up to the elf's neck and face, which was warm with fever. It was expected, of course, for the very first sight of the elf- flushed cheeks, pale skin, clouded eyes and a slight tremble- hinted of his malady already. He undid the elf's tunic, and found that though the elf's body was randomly peppered by cuts and brutal-looking bruises, the source of the fever primarily must have been the bleeding wound lining his right side, poorly covered by a battle-ravaged bandage. The skin around it radiated heat unto the Ranger's hands, and he knew he'd find a bad infection within it. Furthermore, Aragorn noticed that the elf's right side was far more bruised and cut than the left, hinting that during the battle, Legolas may have been troubled by the wound enough to keep him from properly defending himself._

_"It had been a dirty blade," Legolas said nervously, "and some poison. But my body can fight it. It already is doing so, with just minor inconveniences."_

_"Is that how a collapse classifies in the elven culture?" Aragorn asked him, "a minor inconvenience?"_

_"Look at me, Aragorn," Legolas sighed, "I'm fully awake. I was regaining my feet. I look much healthier than you. I am not a fool, I sought aid for my wound when I could, I took rest when time afforded it, I've suffered the healer's ministrations already. There is nothing for you to do here, just… rest yourself, or occupy yourself with larger pursuits and more justifiable duties than mothering me."_

_"You sought aid when you could?" retorted the _adan_, "Took rest when time afforded it? Why, did I not just hear it said that you were found working just now? Do not lie to me, elf. It is probably infected because of your neglect."_

_Legolas bit his lip in thought. "I didn't lie," he said tentatively, "I did have the wound seen to, and I did take rest when… when we got here."_

_It hadn't been a very good defense, for Aragorn's eyes widened in irritation upon the discovery that the wound was an old one, and that the elf did not acquire it during the night's battle, had even fought for Helm's Deep despite of it. But Aragorn reconsidered the tirade that was teasing his tongue. No, he couldn't tell off the elf for wanting to fight. The best warriors always stood on their posts until their knees fell beneath them, and gripped and poised their weapons until their hands failed them. He's never known a better warrior than the elf, and it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that Legolas would fight and work until there was barely enough left in him to rise back to his feet. Besides, it being that Aragorn felt the same, and that he was the walking wounded himself, he didn't think it was an argument he could win._

_The man sighed and looked at the elf in defeat. "All right. So. I'll see to the old wound and the new ones. You will take rest now."_

_"But the dead-" Legolas stammered, clouded eyes darkening all the more with his grief._

_"The dead can wait," Aragorn told him coolly, feeling that Legolas needed the command to ease his conscience, not to mention he looked weary enough to deign from fighting back. "Or else you just might join them. Maybe not from the wound, but I assure you, from the consequences of my irritation."_

_"I don't-" the elf hesitated, and his voice shook, "I don't feel right about leaving them out on that field, sharing a grave with the filth."_

_"They will be cared for," Aragorn promised him with kind eyes, before imposing his will definitively on the elf and pushing him to lie on the ground._

_"Aragorn, won't you rest yourself?" Legolas asked, "I can bother someone else."_

_"I can rest," said the _adan_, distractedly, preparing water and bandages and medicine, "When I see you properly settled, no time sooner. So kindly cooperate."_

_"You are a hideous blackmailer," Legolas proclaimed._

_"My heart is not broken by your harsh attempts," said the man boldly, "You are fevered and delusional. The things you say now do not merit much serious thought."_

_

* * *

_

_When he woke, it felt as if his sleep had been too long and had gone much too far. The sensation was akin to fighting one's way to the surface of a deep and raging river. It was cold, and dark, and he couldn't quite find a decent breath. His arms floundered as they fought, but his body was heavy, and so sluggish that the struggle seemed futile._

I'm drowning_, he thought, renewing his efforts and at the same time thinking that it couldn't possibly be true._

_"Open your eyes," a voice implored him, "Please."_

My eyes_? he thought, _they are open. It is just really dark…

_"Open your eyes," he was told again. The sound of the voice was dull and muffled, and he fought the current with greater force, now knowing for a certainty that he must truly be underwater after all, for voices to sound like that._

_"No, no," said the voice, and he felt digits digging into his wrists, keeping them from moving. The grip hurt, but it was warm, and he realized that it was all that was warm, until the voice breathed against his ear, saying, "Stay still, my friend. You will hurt yourself further."_

_Warm breath on his ear, he thought, he couldn't possibly be underwater if he could feel such a sensation._

_"Legolas," came the voice again, more authoritative now, "Rally to me." And then just as quickly, the tone shifted, and was tainted by desperation and deep-seated hurt. "Please."_

_

* * *

_

_The elf stilled his struggles, and the halting of his movements was so gradual that it looked as if he was deflating before the Ranger's eyes. The elf had fallen into a limp so completely, that Aragorn held his breath, finding himself so fearful that he was praying Legolas was still alive._

_The elf's chest rose in a great inhale, and his eyes blinked to awareness at the exhale. His gaze was dull, tired and confused. But he was in considerable possession of himself, and his eyes drifted to Aragorn's face, which stood but a breath away from his own, for the Ranger was leaning over him and had both his wrists in a death-grip._

_"What in all of Arda are you doing?" Legolas asked him, surprised to find his voice was hoarse, not quite his own. Even his body felt heavy and detached from him._

_"You are running a formidable fever," Aragorn told him softly, "The infection is much worse, and the new wounds are not helping you any."_

_"It is…?" Legolas murmured thoughtfully, "I have an idea."_

_"What might that be?" Aragorn asked._

_"You can," Legolas licked at his dry lips, "You can take your hands from my wrists and then, we can focus instead on cutting off the afflicted part."_

_Aragorn's eyes lightened, and his lips quirked in a smile. His face was interesting as it was, but up close, with all of its nuances… it was downright arresting. His clear eyes contrasted with their fine, black outline. The scars, the laugh lines about his mouth, and those that crinkled at the corner of his eyes. His forehead creased just so, in worry. There was so much to see, except he did release Legolas' wrists and pulled himself up to look down on the elf._

_"We can't cut off half your stomach and expect you to survive," Aragorn pointed out, good-naturedly._

_"Alas," Legolas said, smiling tiredly up at the man, "One tries to think of ways. It does work for arms and legs after all." He blinked several times, and each closing of his eye was harder and harder to keep opening again. _

_"Elves do not sleep with their eyes closed," Aragorn chided him gently, shaking him awake just-so. "The look of you frightens me."_

_"Well the look of you frightens me too," Legolas drawled, "You don't hear me complaining."_

_"No, Legolas," the _adan_ struggled with his words, "Be serious now. Stay awake awhile. Long enough to eat and drink, at least."_

_The elf's eyes drifted shut, he was already halfway away from there. "Tired," he barely got out, and the admission tugged at the man's heart. Aragorn was unused to seeing elves and in particular this one, thus incapacitated and succumbing to weakness. He was delicate enough already, such that even his pride had given way to admitting weariness. Aragorn watched him fall back to unconsciousness, feeling he was at a loss._

_He sighed, tearing his eyes away from Legolas and out toward the window. It was already late afternoon. They were supposed to have left for Isengard hours ago, but then he could not quite bring himself to leave the elf as he was._

_"What are you thinking of?" Gimli asked, from somewhere behind him. The dwarf deigned to join the party of riders that made for Saruman's tower earlier when he heard that both Legolas and Aragorn were staying._

_"Nothing really," breathed the _adan_, "I suppose I'm just worried. And a bit tired. But mostly the former."_

_"He won't die," Gimli said. He found the idea preposterous. But in caution, he added, "Will he?"_

_"He won't," Aragorn chuckled, "I'm being foolish." His eyes softened as his laughter died and he looked back down at the elf's face. "I just wish… I just wish he'd open his eyes."_

_

* * *

_

I wish you'd _both_ open your eyes_, Gimli thought, although he kept his mouth carefully shut._

_It was Eomer who had sought him out in the Keep and brought him to where Aragorn and Legolas was. The elf was caught in a fitful sleep with his eyes closed, which was apparently an anomaly for the race. The Ranger's hands were clasped about the elf's. It was so natural, that the gesture was almost an absent-minded one for Aragorn. Gimli had walked into the room and Aragorn barely spared him a nod in greeting. The Ranger's iron grip about the elf's hands remained unwavering where it was. And there it's remained for endless hours._

_Gimli stared at Aragorn's intent face. "Have you ever thought about what you'd do, if it happened?" he asked, before he could stop himself._

_"If what happened?" Aragorn asked._

_"If he died," Gimli replied._

_"It is not an option," Aragorn said with a shake of his head, "It's an impossibility."_

Oh do not get me started on impossibilities_, Gimli thought, although he kept this to himself too. He's been seeing much, hearing much, and keeping a whole lot of things to himself lately._

"Loving truly is easy," the elf had murmured to the beautiful lady of Rohan some nights ago, "It is so deceptively gentle, I do not even find it can be considered a fall, rather than the brush of a hand, or the first rays of the sun that warm your face. It is so easy, it is there without your knowing precisely how. And then it hits you when it is gone, or when it teases you that it will leave you, and then you find that the future is no longer imaginable without someone, for you've set your eyes and the rest of your life around the idea that he will perpetually be there…"

_The memory of that evening was not quite a happy one, but it was most certainly difficult to forget. He thought Aragorn had fallen to his death. He drank until his head felt it would burst and could lead him to join his dear friend soon. He fell asleep over a half-filled pint. He remembered keeling over and introducing his forehead to the surface of the hard, wooden table. The two had bonded quite well over the course of the night. He remained there for countless hours._

_Alcoholic stupor was generally an event difficult to remove oneself from. But first and foremost, he'd always been a warrior. He was relatively easy to stir awake. Now, he wasn't quite so godly that he'd not have his share of the post-binge headache, but he could see, and hear, and rise to his feet and wield his axe if the situation merited that brand of reaction._

_That night, the elf had come to him with an apology that was not meant to be heard. That night, Legolas had woken Lady Eowyn too. That night, they spoke of love. And he listened. And he knew precisely what they meant._

"You know you've loved," Legolas continued as Eowyn listened intently, "When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Lovers own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all."

_Gimli stared at the man's hands again. The spaces between his fingers were filled up by the elf's digits. Even in Legolas' fevered sleep, the elf clutched back with all of his might._

_

* * *

_

_It was a funny thing, dreaming about one's memories._

_Their eyes were staring at him as he walked. The empty gazes were dead, but why did it seem as if they followed? He'd stand here and they were looking straight at him. And then he'd stand there and it was the same._

What do you look at_? Legolas wondered, his heart thundering in his chest. He walked the rocky ground littered by the empty gazes, the homeless faces, the distorted bodies tightened by the grip of death inescapable, of his fallen kin._

We're not supposed to be here_, he thought achingly, _that is why you're all dead. This is not our world anymore. This is not our time. This is not our battle…

And I'm not supposed to be alive_, he realized_, for I belong to you, old, fallen friends. Is that why you stare?

_His mouth was murmuring absent-minded prayers for the dead. He wanted his heart to feel the words, but it was preserving itself; to feel what he feared he might feel can choke him, and kill him._

I belong to you_, he thought, _Is that why you stare?

_He thought perhaps one of the bodies had blinked at him in reply. He stepped back, aghast. He gasped and fell to his knees on the bloody ground. The wound on his side had torn hours ago, when they were still besieged by the dark forces, but it hurt like hellfire now. He crawled to the blinking elf he thought to be dead._

_But it had been a dream, perhaps. For the soldier was very much dead. The wound was burning. Legolas reached over to touch the fallen elf's neck and feel for a pulse with hands that shook both in hurt and in anxiety. The elf was dead and staring at him. Still, the wound was burning. _

_He pushed off the ground in an effort to rise. But his legs would not hold him, and he fell to his hands and knees with a grunt; the jolt to the ground was making the wound unbearable. His arms shook. They failed beneath him too, and he lowered himself to the cold, cold ground. The rock was slick with mud and blood beneath his cheek. He found himself face-to-face with a fallen elf, and he fancied they must have been staring at each other._

I belong to you_, he thought._

I belong to the dead

_But Eomer came and squatted before him, forehead creased in worry as he called, "Master elf?"_

_Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but then it might have taken him longer than Eomer had the patience to wait, so he was unceremoniously hauled to his feet and taken away from the death fields. _

_A man had torn him from his kin, and the glorious escape of death. Eomer wouldn't be the first to do so._

_

* * *

_

_'I belong to the dead,' his eyes opened, and he said this softly in his native tongue, just before his breath hitched and his body shook, tense with pain and the desperate desire for release of the spirit it imprisoned. His eyes took on an empty gaze. He was there but not quite, and he was fleeing further._

_'No,' Aragorn said to the elf, quite desperately, 'No. Legolas. Please. You belong here. You belong with us. You belong with me.'_

_The elf blinked, and after a long, quiet moment, he calmed. His eyes focused, and searched, and settled on the _adan_'s desperate, silver gaze._

_'Say…' Legolas whispered, 'Say it again…'_

_The _adan_ had an aversion to being told what to do. His eyes watered in joy and relief, and his lips quirked to a smile. But he kept quiet. And the elf smiled too, albeit wearily._

_'Stay,' Aragorn implored him._

_'Yes,' murmured the elf._

_'Swear it,' Aragorn ordered._

_'I promise,' Legolas said, his gaze searching, 'I promise.'_

_'Good,' Aragorn nodded, tightening his grip on the elf's hand. Legolas fell back to sleep, but this time his eyes were open in the usual elvish fashion. Relieved, Aragorn turned toward the window. It was now deep into the night. He glanced at the dwarf, sitting beside him. _

_Gimli was looking at him with a thoughtful expression on his weathered face. The dwarf did not know a word of Elvish, so he certainly did not know exactly what it was the elf and man had said to each other. But then again, they hadn't said anything specific or explicit, had they? So it hadn't been about the words, not really. It had been about their tones and their faces. It had been about their entwined hands and their searching eyes. It had been about nearly losing it all, just as their holy value was discovered. And one didn't need a decent grasp of Elvish to understand any of that. _

_Aragorn braced himself for what the dwarf might say._

_"He looks better," Gimli said softly._

To be continued…


	21. Fathers, Mothers, Daughters and Sons

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Jaron: an Easterling soldier

**

* * *

PART TWO: Possibilities **

Chapter Fifteen: Fathers, Mothers, Daughters and Sons

The Land of the Sang-age

* * *

The fastest rider had been sent ahead of Elrohir's party by Nathaniel. Though this was the case, just to ensure they wouldn't be, say, _shot on sight!_, he and Adriano rode side by side at the head of the group, bearing the colors of the Easterling tribe, Rivendell, Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlorien, Gondor, Ithilien, Rohan and the Glittering Caves as a representative of the entirety of the western alliance. 

They shouldn't have feared, really. As a matter of fact, Elrohir was quite surprised by the ease of their travel. For one thing, the men were getting along reasonably well, and their Sang-age riders knew the best ways back toward their own kingdom, such that the dessert routes were quick, not as flaming hot as he first predicted and also well-mapped by water sources.

As in many dessert communities, that of the Sang-age revolved its life about a water source. An almost perfectly round oasis was carefully routed to provide irrigation to the tilling fields and water lines into the houses of the King and other prominent members of the community. The first houses the party passed belonged to the lesser folk. They were beautiful and strange, dome-shaped and made of smooth clay that was intricately and painstakingly embossed with carvings of vines and flowers. The houses lined neat, rock-paved streets. Occasional palm trees towered over their heads, providing some shade although of course, not enough to stem the heat or keep from the all-encompassing sight of the yellow, sandy wastelands around the settlement.

The people stood just outside of their homes. Most of them were women and children, for their men had gone off to fight the war. A few soldiers remained, and they peppered the area here and there. The parade made for an uneasy, silent one. The golden-skinned Sang-agen were understandably wary of the new arrivals. Their exotic faces were framed by rich cloths in deep colors. The rest of their clothing was carefully layered in the same material, to protect them from the sun.

Once in awhile, Adriano would find a familiar face and wave, or nod in acknowledgement. So would the other Easterlings in the wedding party. But mostly they just rode ahead toward the house of King Nathaniel.

The sight of the King's home was strangely daunting. It was not particularly large; Elrond's House was much more outwardly overwhelming. It was just… the _misplacement_, Elrohir guessed, such extravagance in a hungry land. The King's house was found at a slight incline, and of all indulgences in the thirsting dessert, it was lined by carefully cultured grass in a beautifully sculpted garden. There was even a _fountain!_ that was of course, guarded by one sentry. The palace was dome-shaped too, with a round, circular orientation. Elrohir suspected the figure had some practical uses in the heated, sandy, windy dessert. The main dome was cast in an unadorned, blinding white and it towered over the smaller domes of an earthier red, intricately carved and painted, that surrounded it.

Adriano signaled for the party to stop at the main entrance, where the servants of the King were waiting to receive their noble guests. Everyone dismounted their horses, as Elrohir stepped forward to take the position of the leader.

Adriano said something to the servants in the local dialect, and then turned to translate for Elrohir. "I've introduced you as the envoy of the kingdoms of Gondor, Imladris, Eryn Lasgalen, Ithilien, the Glittering Caves, Lorien and Rohan. I told them you have been sent, with the blessings of Nathaniel our King, to fetch his daughter Nadina for the purpose of treaty-marriage."

"Thank you," Elrohir murmured, "And where is the lady?"

"She is inside," Adriano replied, "I will arrange for your men to eat and take some rest, and for your horses to be stabled. Your people will be well-cared for and safe, but to ease your heart, I will also have sentries to guard over them, should any of our constituents be foolish enough to dare to hurt them."

"That would be ideal," Elrohir said gratefully, "I will be taking Lord Gimli and Captain Haldir with me."

"I suspected as much," replied Adriano, before turning to Jonah and ordering him to look after the Gondorian group. The old soldier nodded without second thought, and immediately set about accomplishing his duties. Elrohir noticed that only those who were in the King's service or his Household knew how to speak in Westron. The lower classes had not been instructed.

Adriano waved the two elves and the dwarf forward. They passed the grassy, fountained courtyard and stepped inside the entry hall of the King's house. It was exotic with rich cloths in curtains and pillows strewn on the ground. There was an herby, smoky scent that was pleasant, permeating every corner of the palace. In the King's house, the air was cool with the shade, and the space was spotless-clean with tireless servants that discreetly swept at the sand that ultimately made its way from the outside because of the slim windows. Random articles of rich wood furnished the quiet halls, some of which were finely carpeted while others were elegantly sparse with smooth marble. There was also a proliferation of bejeweled mirrors and accents. They caught the light once in awhile, and cast strange colors in the interior of the dome.

The main hall was a behemoth, Elrohir decided. The King's court was the large dome that he had seen from the outside, and the smaller domes that surrounded it must be the living quarters and other rooms. The main hall had a single wooden throne on a raised dais, next to which a very young woman with a noble bearing stood, her face was half-covered by a rich black cloth such that only her eyes could be seen.

_Beautiful eyes_, Elrohir mused, but they were not as blue as was promised. Beautiful nevertheless. Tendrils of her waving black hair peeked from her hood. Beside the young girl was a taller woman with an equally elegant stance. Now _her_ eyes were a stunning, frosted blue. They were also older and colder than the young princess'; Elrohir was sure she was not royalty, by her humble attire of wan cream with less layers.

Adriano's eyes widened a bit, but he bowed, and the three Westerners found it wise to mimic his actions. The young Princess Nadina stepped down from the raised dais and bowed to them deeply as well.

"Welcome, my lords," the older woman next to Nadina said to them in heavily accented Westron. Her voice was heady and rich and textured, despite the muffling of the cloth that covered her mouth.

* * *

Elrohir was quite pleased to discover that the face-shielding was but an initial formality. Nadina and her servant, one named Rebekah, had lowered the cloths to their necks the very breath they stepped out of the King's hall into a smaller dome that was the dining room.

They removed the cloths like troopers, as if it was a hindrance. And when they walked forward, they walked like purposeful men, taking up their own space, leading the way, but no less of graceful ladies.

Nadina's face was very finely sculpted. Her skin was flawless olive, her lips upturned in a pleasant young pout. Rebekah her maid was less striking, weathered slightly by the sun and the wind because she was slightly older than her royal charge. Such nuances however, only lent her face more mystique and character. Her eyes shone like jewels.

They all sat on the ground amidst carpets and pillows, for the table was low. Nadina left the head of the table bare, as if in reference to her absent father, and between Rebekah and Adriano. The three guests sat across from them.

"I understand my lady has been given up for marriage once again," Rebekah said at once, not mincing words as the food was served around them.

"That is true," answered Elrohir, glancing at Nadina, "To Legolas, Heir to the Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen, and Lord of the Elves of Ithilien."

Nadina stared wordlessly at Haldir, who sat between Elrohir and Gimli for a long, quiet moment. Rebekah glanced at the princess, reading her mind.

"I suppose that would be you," said Rebekah to the Lorien elf.

"Excuse me?' Haldir asked, confused.

"Princess Nadina is to wed you, is my understanding correct?" the servant asked.

"I am not Legolas," Haldir informed her.

"But you have a magnificent head of golden hair," Rebekah pointed out, "A warrior's stance. And a dwarf by your side. No other elf has a dwarf."

"I am not some identifying accessory!" Gimli exclaimed. But Haldir smiled, because he found the mistake was quite a reasonable one to make after all.

"Your assumption is understandable," he said to her evenly, "But false. Prince Legolas is in his kingdom, making the proper arrangements."

"Hm," Rebekah said thoughtfully, shifting in her seat and looking down at her tea. "I suppose King Danielli is truly dead then."

"Yes," Elrohir said, turning to face Nadina and wondering why she was not speaking at all, "We are truly sorry for your loss."

"You aren't," Rebekah told him coolly.

Elrohir looked at her with narrowed, measuring eyes. "I do believe I was addressing the princess."

"The Princess does not speak with the kin of her fiancée intil they are wed," Rebekah retorted, "Look up the culture before you venture into your complaints, master elf."

Elrohir set his jaws, quite deeply annoyed.

"But no matter," Rebekah said quickly, hardly missing a beat from the transition between tirade and the next thing that popped in her mind, "We appreciate the lie. Just as King Nathaniel and many like him appreciate the circumstances. Peace for Lord Danielli's life… I suppose the price is not so steep. It is but one life after all."

A lull fell about the room. The widow Nadina was a cold one, and as was her servant girl. Elrohir supposed the harshness of the dessert and the time of war made folk quite practical.

"We were told Princess Nadina has a son," said Haldir, "Where might he be?"

"He is in Danielli's land," Rebekah replied, "Or should I say, the land that is now Prince Legolas'? When news of Danielli and Nicolo's death was made known to us, Princess Nadina was spirited away here, to her father's kingdom."

"Why is that?" asked Gimli.

"To prevent wife-theft," Rebekah answered, as if it was obvious, "If neighboring tribes got wind that she no longer had the protection of Danielli, they could steal her away."

The dwarf's brows furrowed. "These are very strange."

"It is not your way?" Rebekah asked.

"Oh no," replied Elrohir, "Our women are not stolen unless they want to be taken away."

"That is very interesting," she said, "So all your wives had to choose you?"

"None of us are married," Haldir said.

"Ah," she said, and her eyes lit a bit at what that could have meant, "No one wanted to be taken by you, then?"

"We're all very busy," Gimli said quickly.

Rebekah smiled a little. It was rare and pleasant, and all too quickly gone. "My lady's son is a beautiful boy. I know that according to this treaty, he now belongs to Prince Legolas, along with the Queen, all of their lands and properties. But I mean to ask… that is, because it is not quite specified…" she hesitated, "The Queen deigned from bringing her son here upon word of the treaty because she feared you might have him killed. According to our laws, if Prince Legolas willed it so, he is acting within his rights if he had poor Dorjan killed. But… but he is a beautiful boy."

"That is not our way either," Gimli assured her, but he was looking at Nadina, the boy's young mother. The Princess just nodded at him.

* * *

Elrohir could not sleep.

Not that the quarters given him were uncomfortable, they were just… _intoxicatingly foreign_. How could one bear to close one's eyes, he wondered, when the scents were so strange and invigorating, when the land outside was a vast eternal dessert that stretched like the sea and reached up to the skies? The very air had a strange kind of beat that wasn't the whipping of the winds; the dessert looked empty, but this was a land _alive_. It was more alive than the people who lived in her, for they stood perpetually at her mercy.

He sat up in bed. He wondered if it was safe to walk around.

_Probably not_, he chided himself. But he was wide awake and impatient. _Besides_, he reasoned_, there are guards everywhere. I won't be sneaking around, and they won't let me go where I am not allowed to be_.

He rose and wore his formal robes, in case he ran into anyone. He made for the door, and was not surprised when a young Easterling soldier opened it for him smartly. Adriano had apparently ordered him to be guarded as well.

"Is there anything you need, my lord?" asked the soldier haltingly, his accent heavy. Elrohir liked listening to these people speak.

"I couldn't sleep," Elrohir confessed.

"We have all sorts of herbs for that," said the soldier enthusiastically.

Elrohir laughed, a bit nervous about that idea. "No thank you. I prefer to seek my relaxation with a bit of wind. Tell me… is it quite all right for me to wander into your courtyards?"

"I will escort you," the soldier said, booking no arguments, "But we cannot walk on the grass."

"Of course," Elrohir smiled, "Of course."

The pair walked on, and Elrohir learned that the young soldier was all of fifteen, and his name was Jaron. They passed several soldiers, exchanged polite greetings before stepping out of the palace and into the dessert night.

Elrohir closed his eyes in pleasure. The wind was cool and strong. The land looked different at night. The moon showed bright and high over their heads, and the stars were countless. He traveled here thinking perhaps the land would be impossibly hostile. But so far, the experience was proving to be a very rich, enjoyable one. Even the people he'd once regarded as enemies were warm and welcoming.

"Your home is very beautiful," Elrohir told Jaron.

"Thank you, my lord," said the youth, "Is it anything like yours?"

"Oh no," replied the elf, "Quite different. We are rocks and cliffs and trees and rivers and waterfalls."

"Water. Falls…?" Jaron repeated uncertainly.

Elrohir smiled at the realization that Jaron, or most anyone from the East had never seen one. "It is what it sounds like, I suppose. Water falling off the edges of large cliffs, over rocks and down to pools. It is very beautiful."

"I cannot begin to think it," Jaron said, awed, "So much water that it just… falls. Water falling. How strange. What are your people like?"

"People everywhere are just… people," Elrohir answered, "We all just try to make a beautiful life for ourselves the only ways we know how. Some of us go to war. Some of us plant trees and flowers. Some of us write poetry and music. We are more alike than we think."

"You fought in the war?" Jaron asked.

"Yes," answered Elrohir, "I have."

"Have you ever killed any of us?" the youth pressed, after a moment of contemplating if he was first, overstepping his bounds and second, tackling a subject he'd rather not get into in afterthought.

"Yes," the elf said simply, "I have done that too."

Jaron stared at him a long, quiet moment. "My father and brothers died in the war."

"I'm very sorry for that," Elrohir said, wondering if the lad was seeking an apology.

"They must have tried to kill you too," Jaron said, "It is just war, I suppose. I'm glad it's going to end."

"Me too," Elrohir said wistfully.

The rustling of skirts and approaching footsteps caught their attention, and both gentlemen turned to the servant Rebekah walking toward them.

"Jaron," said she, "You are excused."

He bowed at her and scurried away. She barely spared him a nod, so intent was her look upon the elf, who suffered her measuring gaze with a bit of a wry smile.

"Do you not sleep?" she asked, breaking the silence, "Your road here was very long and yet you are tireless."

"Elves need very little rest," he informed her, "But thank you for your concern."

She nodded, and looked away from him toward the horizon. With her face open and her hood lowered, her dark hair was whipping with the wind. She looked contemplative, and he wondered if she preferred to have him go away and leave her in peace.

"What is Prince Legolas like?" she asked him, before she could stop herself.

_An interesting question_, he mused, _Especially__ lately_.

"Or I suppose it's immaterial," she said quickly, "He did not bother to know Princess Nadina before going into this treaty business, did he? And it will push through whether or not she wishes it. It's just that… he is her brother's killer. And the man who killed her child's father. Who tried to kill King Nathaniel as well. Our people have only ever known him as a foe. And now he is to be my lady's husband. The idea is almost laughable."

"He is much loved, Lady Rebekah," Elrohir said, "You only know the surface, you only know his outermost skin, the image of the warrior-prince. But in his deepest heart he is a friend, and a leader. He is a son, a lover, a brother. He will not harm your princess or her son. He will treat your people fairly."

Rebekah shrugged, turned to other subjects. Elrohir picked up her habit of subject shifting from that first meal they had together earlier that day.

"We leave for the West tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "Toward Gondor, where the last touches of the treaty are being made, and where the last hostile forces of the East converge against the West. Prince Legolas will meet us there, for the wedding in his lands in Ithilien. These lands are his own, so the first of the celebrations are to be held there. And then in Eryn Lasghalen, his entailment, where he is heir of the King. And then in the lands of Danielli and Nicolo, to be joined under his rule. Your customs will be followed then. We have respect for your culture." Elrohir's lips twitched, "Though my careless words from earlier may have led you to believe otherwise."

She smiled, before commenting, "So much celebration for a union without joy or love. I think you folk are stranger than we are."

Elrohir smiled back, appreciating the wry humor. "That is very fair of you to say."

"And…" she said haltingly, hesitating, "I am very pleased to find that you are not… aren't quite as… as _vile_ as I first thought our foes were supposed to be."

He chuckled. "Well ma'am. Neither are you."

* * *

Eryn Lasgalen

* * *

Legolas set his jaws, and stared back at the King stubbornly. Thranduil was looking at his son in that all-too familiar way, as if he didn't quite know what to do with him. Father and son had the King's hall all to themselves, Thranduil up on his raised throne and his son standing defiantly before him.

'You will marry a woman sired by our lifelong foes,' Thranduil said flatly, repeating what his son had just said to him, 'Not only is she not an elf, but one of the cursed Easterlings too. Have you no idea of how much blood has been shed between us? How many lives-'

'I am not unfamiliar with that, _ada_,' said Legolas, 'I know all too well just how many. I know all too well exactly who. I know all to well just how much that blood meant to me.'

'Then what is this madness?' the King snapped, 'Or have you forgotten what it is like to be one amongst your own people?'

'You are being intentionally hurtful,' Legolas retorted, 'You know I've always offered my blood and body to this land. Why do you say these things?'

'Because I do not want you to wed a cursed Easterling!' the King thundered, 'No half-Eastern spawn of the devil will inherit this seat of mine, rule over my people, walk these lands as if he owned it. I will die first!'

'I came here not for your permission,' said Legolas edgily, 'But only for your knowledge. I have my own lands in Ithilien, my own people. And I've also just acquired two significant territories in the East. I thought you'd want to know. You are my father still, and I your son, after all.' He said the last sentence with more than a tinge of acid, as if to stress that the conversation was quickly unfolding into a mockery of that statement.

'Legolas…' his father breathed, 'dear gods, boy. Get your head on straight. You know I have no other heir but you. Why bother with all of this? You do not even love her. Her kin killed the only woman who had ever laid siege to thy heart. Lilian.' The King looked at him intently, 'Lilian. You might as well spit on her grave-'

'Lilian is dead,' Legolas said bitterly, 'her damned problems are long over, _ada_. And they are no longer mine.'

His father gasped, so struck was he by his son's hurt, blazing eyes. The harshness finality in his tone, his dismissal of that woman who once had such claim to his heart.

'Think about it, my lord,' Legolas said, numbly now, as if it was a well-rehearsed speech, 'The size of your land doubles, your constituents as well. We can open the roads for commerce, they have considerable riches in the East too. We will leave these lands soon, that is our destiny. But the _edain_ heirs to this throne will still have your blood coursing through their veins. The throne will not be lost to our family. For all these advantages, we also manage to help a desperate land attain a much-longed-for peace, keep a people from destroying themselves. I see no ill-side.'

The King stared at his son for a long moment. 'I do not question the practicality, my son. And our people will see this through alongside you. They hate our foes, but they love you more and will follow you to their deaths. You've certainly given them your life, you are right. They will find no fault in your judgment, and we all do tire of warring.'

'What do you question then?' Legolas asked, dreading the answer.

'Your heart,' Thranduil replied, '_I am still your father and you are still my son_. Believe it when I say that I love you. I am father before I am King. I see the value of the alliance. But 'tis this marriage that binds you, and why you _truly_ do it that stabs at my heart.' He took a deep breath, seemed to want to calm himself except he wasn't quite succeeding.

'You do all of this for Elessar,' the king seethed, apparently unable to calm or stop himself, 'Elessar, who's contaminated you with all these… these… impossible ideas that have torn you from me, torn you from your people, torn you from your destiny. Your love for him will kill you and cease you from being who you were born to be!'

Legolas' body shook, and his eyes glistened.

'A father knows,' Thranduil said, his tone softening, his gaze searching his son's earnestly, 'A father knows. You came home to us after the war and you were much changed. And then I told you Lilian was dead, and you tore across these lands in anger- far more anger than there was grief, far more hatred than there was loss. You were different, and your love was different. And you hated yourself because she was dead. Because you hadn't been here to save her or be with her. But more because you didn't want to be. You were elsewhere, and you did not regret being there. A father knows. You were different, and your love was different, and you wanted little to do with any of us who knew you for what you once were. You fought, you toured, you left, you built a kingdom elsewhere. A father knows.'

'_Ada_…' Legolas said brokenly, unsure of what to say.

'I do not love you any less for loving a man,' said Thranduil, his eyes and tone softening, 'How many times have the old adages advised us that love was beyond the body, love stabbed straight to the soul? What does it matter if he's an _adan_ and that you're an elf? That you are both men? The soul finds rest where it does. I cannot fault you for loving. But my son,' he sighed, 'Why do you give your happiness for his people's peace? You wed this woman whom you loathe to purchase them their happiness at the expense of your own.'

'Her life is short,' Legolas said quickly, swiping away angrily at a tear that had escaped the desperate grasp of his eyes, 'Mine is long. I can find another…'

'Your life is not that long,' Thranduil said to him mildly, 'Heed an old man's counsel, Legolas. Do not kill yourself for Elessar.'

'I've only lived my life to be a credit to your name, my lord,' said Legolas stonily, 'All my deeds belong to you, and to my people. The reason is I love you. Let my deeds belong to those I love, and let my love belong to me. The acts are yours but the reasons are mine. These are the only things that are truly mine, and I cannot yield them to you. My marriage will give Aragorn his peace, and you your riches. But I get to keep to myself, first that I wish to leave you these as your son, and second, I wish to give him his peace as… as one who loves him.'

Thranduil looked at him sadly, helplessly. He rose from his throne and stepped toward his son. He held Legolas' cold face in his hands, stared at the eyes that averted their broken, screaming gaze from him.

'Look at me,' the King implored him, 'Son. Look at me.'

Legolas' body shook. Thranduil could feel his tremble and his desperate struggle to still, to calm. But he followed as the king bid, and stared back at his father.

'I do not love you any less,' Thranduil told him softly, 'Do not forget that. Do as you will, with my blessing. But I so wish for you to be happy.'

Legolas blinked, and more of his tears slipped past his eyes, down his cheeks. He tried to swipe away at them, but his father's grip upon his face was insistent and lent him not room. His face crumpled, failing at last this war he had made with himself- not to cry, not to break. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and father held son close to his breast as he cried, and they sank to the ground together.

* * *

Minas Tirith, 

Gondor

* * *

He had long, strong legs that he was quickly and tirelessly making use of. The boy liked to run, and the only thing he liked more than running was probably his mother and father, whom he attacked at a warg-like maul and embraced to half his little life. The sun was playing with the short, dark waves of his hair, and his eyes were light and dancing. His laughter was musical.

Aragorn watched his son play, from the strategic vantage point of his study window. An absent smile touched his face.

_I will live and die for you_, he thought.

Say what people will about all the deeds of his life, but this one… this living, laughing, screaming child was his greatest entailment to the world.

Aragorn was not a regretful man. He's lived life quite fully, and even if he died that very moment, no one could have ever said he had lived an empty one. He had a thriving kingdom, a wife, a child and friends and people who loved him.

No, he did not regret. But he often wondered, how things would have been had… had he not yielded his heart, had he yielded this throne and this life instead. It was not the same as regret, no, really it wasn't. It was just… a thought, he supposed.

_You were right, my friend_, he thought up to Legolas, _The death of she whom you loved and our friendship are hard to divorce. They created possibilities and hurtful dreams that we do not wish to think of._

What-might-have-been's weren't regrets. They were just… possibilities. Those that were long gone, irrecoverable.

_It sounds a little bit like regret_, he chided himself, but his eyes settled on Eldarion once more and he knew, for a certainty, that he did not regret the road to this life, the road that had given him and Arwen their son.

_It's not regret_, he decided, _It__ is just remembering that the price I paid to get here was very high_.

_Legolas_, he thought with a wince_, The price we both pay is still very high_.

I will do it if you ask, the elf had said. And he asked. And the elf said 'let it be done.' And then they parted. Again. The brand of parting that belonged to tragic romances. How many such partings must they have in one lifetime? The first one had been difficult enough.

Aragorn guessed that two should be enough. This time should be the last time. After all, their first goodbye ended when the elf had given him his wife in marriage. And now… he was giving the elf a wife too. The idea was actually quite perverse. And also strangely appropriate.

_This next time that I give you up will be the very last time_.

To be continued…

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HEY GUYS! thanks for the c&c's. keep 'em coming if you can, they are always welcome, and i'll keep on trying my best also. hope you had fun, and 'til the next post:) 


	22. You've Never Met Anyone Like Me

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

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* * *

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**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Adriano: Nicolo's impulsive young aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

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* * *

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**PART THREE: Roads**

Chapter Sixteen: You've Never Met Anyone Like Me

The Road West

* * *

The size of the riding party doubled in size.

The original six Easterlings and six Gondorians remained onboard, as did of course, Elrohir, Haldir and Gimli. With them then rode Nadina, Rebekah and an additional entourage of four strange old women, whose purpose wasn't altogether clear to the Westerners until Rebekah noted the dwarf's befuddled expression and whispered under her breath that the women were the old guard assigned to make sure everyone conducted themselves properly.

"It is not only the Princess' health and life that must be looked after," Rebekah explained, "Also her virtue."

"Ah," said the dwarf, "Well I didn't think the old women could protect us from bandits and dark forces after all."

"You'd be surprised," the maid laughed, to receive a menacing glare from one of the old women they were talking about.

Aside from the six women who now accompanied them, another six soldiers rode along, and everyone was riding these curious and humungous beasts called camels, while their horses were steered along. The rationale had been that they ride the camels while traversing the dessert for the beasts were more accustomed to the climate, set up camp at the border between the East and West, move to the horses which were more rested having not borne any riders, and then proceed West for the rest of the journey. The camels would be steered back home by six of the Easterlings, therefore reducing the party to the original travelers plus the six women. The plan was kinder to the horses, and speedier as well. Besides, since the moment he set eyes on the happily-munching, slightly bearded beasts with the large, pooled eyes, Elrohir wanted to pounce on them. As a matter of fact, he was cooing at the beast he rode in his native Elvish, and the beast looked quite satisfied with his temporary master. The dwarf, who had been given a camel of his own and which he did not want to refuse in fear of being seen as a lesser rider, was also quite pleased with his ride- the humps upon the beast's back served as stable anchors. Haldir looked as adapted as ever upon a camel's back, and even had a rich green silken shroud about his head that someone must have given him.

"This heat is infernal," the dwarf commented, "I'm going to rust my armor with sweat!"

"It is the cold of the west that is unbearable to us," old Jonah commented, "the division of the land is as notable as the division of the people."

"Not for very long, one hopes," said Elrohir, his graceful hands absently stroking the neck of his camel.

"You're treating the beast like it was your child," an Easterling soldier, one of the camel-wranglers who would leave them at the halfway point, said with his brows raised.

"I'm sorry," said the Rivendell elf, his hands stilling, "Is it not advisable?"

"His tone had been that of reluctant approval," said Rebekah, laughing a little, "Not dismay. That beast will want no other rider but you now."

"I wonder if he can survive in my home," Elrohir mused out loud, rubbing at the camel's skin again, "He's quite pleasant. I'll be the only elf with such a strange friend! When I was a boy, I always thought perhaps it would be an adventure to own a _mumakil_. But this is marvelous as well."

They rode along. The Gondorians did not much appreciate the erratic creature. They learned the hard way that camels liked spitting along the length of the road. They also did not like being authoritatively told what to do, and that they also had a thick for clicking at you and trying to bite people. Elrohir's camel, though, was busy learning Elvish and was quite behaved. Rebekah watched the elf with morbid interest.

"He is a very strange one," Haldir said to her, catching her line of sight, "Do not let your knowledge of him taint our noble reputation."

"That is true," said Gimli, "Legolas is far, far more appropriate, I promise you."

Rebekah smiled at him, but looked a bit wistful at the thought. "But it is not so bad, is it?"

"The lady is right," said Elrohir wryly, "Friends… While we all seem to agree that I'm strange, we've all seemed to have forgotten that I also have incredibly good hearing."

"That you do," agreed Gimli with a bark of laughter, "That you do, _mellon-nin_."

They rode on. The Westerners and the Easterlings no longer had to be forced in specific formations to interact with one another; the ride was a reasonably comfortable, easy one, and occasional laughter could be heard from different spaces, jests exchanged by soldiers who had once tried to kill each other. The possibilities of this kind of life was making Elrohir smile.

The Rivendell elf headed the column of riders, with two of the old women riding right behind him and watching him carefully. He wondered why the eagle eyes of the old guard were eyeing him with such suspicion. He supposed cooing at the camel in Elvish could be the reason, so he ceased. And yet they still rode right behind him, and he could feel their eyes burning holes in his back. Behind the old women rode two Easterling soldiers, and then behind them rode the young, quiet Nadina beside the ever-faithful Rebekah. The line stretched along, peppered by Gondorians and Easterlings in random places. The rear was stalwartly held by Haldir, Gimli, Adriano and Jonah who had taken a liking for talking with each other. The party was relaxed, but also reasonably cautious. The elves situated at the front and at the back was not by coincidence.

The sands went on. They left the lands of the Sang-age the moment the sun set on their second day there, to travel in the more tolerable climes of the night. The wind was cold and whipping, but the seasoned travelers of the tribe assured them that the weather was mild, and safe for travel. Some night were better spent indoors or in camps, but this one would be pleasant for travel. True enough, the road during the night was comfortable, soothing even. The sands stretched out like a deep blue sea, and the sky was bursting with stars. But that had been hours upon hours ago, and now that the sun had risen in late morning, and they've not stopped for rest at all, the heat was quite terrible for the Westerners.

"When I get home," the dwarf proclaimed, "I will soak in water for one week. One whole week!"

Haldir quickened his camel's pace, passing the other riders that he may speak with Elrohir. Young Adriano followed behind him.

"Elrohir," said the former Marchwarden, "I believe we can make camp in this cave with a water hole."

Adriano was holding a map before the Rivendell elf's face, "It is about an hour's ride away. We will be diverging from our path a little, but it might be better to pool our strength."

Elrohir glanced at the map and considered. He was quite used to hardier and speedier travel, but then he was not traveling with elves or the _dunedain_, so he nodded.

"Indeed," he agreed, "We can camp there until night falls again, and then we ride once more."

* * *

They found the wide-mouthed cave as the map promised. The sand had thinned upon following this route, such that rock soon rose up beneath the camel hooves. And as they followed the rock they came upon this kind of island of rocks and stones. A wide-mouthed cave was entrenched amid high stone walls, and within it was a small, strangely luminous pool of blessed, sparkling water.

They all dismounted the camels, and the soldiers of Gondor and the Eastern camel-wranglers set about with settling down the beasts outside the cave but in a shade provided by the rock-walls. The six seasoned Easterlings ordered the rest of the party to stay outside the cave, as they ensured the interior was empty not only of hostile peoples but of snakes and scorpions. The members of the group that remained outside busied themselves with preparing for camp and a meal.

While everyone got busy, Elrohir noted with quite a lot of irritation that the two old women from earlier were still hounding him.

"I've stopped romancing the bloody camel," he said to them with a long-suffering sigh, "What is it that my ladies want of me?"

They just stared at him, and Rebekah pushed her way to stand between the irate elf and the impervious old women.

"They want nothing," Rebekah said, looking at the two old women pointedly, "And they will busy themselves elsewhere."

The two women stood there for a long moment, before frowning and walking away to join the two other old matrons. Elrohir exhaled in relief and he smiled at Rebekah gratefully.

"Did I do anything wrong again?" he asked her, forehead wrinkling in thought, "Some cultural prohibitions I once again missed on?"

"No," she assured him, "They are just particularly difficult. One of them is quite hard to deal with, but all together, I think they have this notion that they rule the world--"

An exclamation of pain from inside the cave. Elrohir jumped, and so did Rebekah. He made for the opening of the cave, and because she was following, he pressed his hands to her shoulders and wordlessly commanded her to stay where she was. He drew his sword as two of the six Easterlings who had gone into the cave ran out, one supporting the other.

"What happened?" he asked them.

"Snakes," the injured man replied breathlessly, wincing. Elrohir's eyes raked over the soldier's form and found a slightly bleeding puncture on his wrist. Already, he was weakened by the snake's poison.

"Sit down," Elrohir commanded the soldier, unknowingly adapting a tone that was very much borrowed from his healer father. He picked up the man's wrist and gripped it tightly, just as the other soldiers who had gone into the cave stepped out, all of them leaving it with a batch of different-colored, wriggling snakes in their sure, bare hands.

"This is dinner!" one of them exclaimed, before his eyes drifted to his injured comrade, sitting on the ground. His eyes saddened, and he quieted. "It happens, sometimes."

"What do you mean, 'it happens sometimes?'" exclaimed the dwarf, eyes widening as he wondered if the man meant that the bitten soldier was going to die, "Have you no remedy for such things?"

"Not for the bite of this one," replied another soldier raising up a snake that shared the color of the dessert. It was very much still alive, but its dangerous jaws were made immobile by a firm grip to his head.

"Lower your limb," Elrohir instructed the injured man softly, but authoritatively. "Point it downwards, yes. Well done. What is your name?"

"Aaron," replied the soldier, a bit shakily. He was nervous by the idea of impending death, and by the elven stranger who was tending him.

"I need water," Elrohir said to no one in particular, "If you're going to get from the blasted cave, for god's sakes, be careful. And keep that snake that bit him alive."

"What am I to do with it?" asked the wrangler who was holding the said culprit.

"Hang on to it for awhile," Elrohir replied, "I won't take long."

"The wound must be cut wide," said one of the old women, "And the poison drawn from it by sucking. Or the wound must be cauterized."

"Have you ever actually known anyone who's lived through that?" Elrohir asked her, "Truly, madam?"

"I have," she said, "Just… not too many. And not for very long. And not by bites from that foul thing in particular."

"Oh gods…" breathed Aaron, "I'm going to die!"

"Calm down," Elrohir told him, as a soldier brought them a bowl of water. Haldir sat on his haunches next to Elrohir, bearing the elf's healer's pack.

'_Mellon-nin_,' Elrohir said to Haldir softly, 'Have you ever drawn venom from a Mirkwood spider?'

'I do not count that as amongst my experiences,' murmured the Marchwarden, 'I am sorry.'

"I have!" exclaimed the dwarf, and the two elves looked at him in surprise. First, because of his declaration and second, that he had picked up on their Elvish. Then again, one did not travel around with Legolas for a long time without picking up anything.

"What are you all saying?" Aaron asked shakily.

"Everyone get busy setting up camp," Elrohir commanded the wary bunch of people who were staring at him as he worked, "We're going to need a comfortable place to rest Mister Aaron when I am done."

"Rest me?" Aaron asked, "To die?"

As the group scrambled, Rebekah lingered next to the young soldier and told him something in their own tongue, soothing him. Elrohir looked at her gratefully, before turning to Gimli.

"_Elvellon_," he said, "I will challenge your claim and ask that you employ the same trick working upon the Mirkwood spiders with the snake that bit our friend."

The dwarf glanced at the snake in the wrangler's hands, apparently contemplating if the Rivendell had lost his mind in the heat and had forgotten that dessert snakes looked nothing like Mirkwood spiders. But he sighed and accosted the soldier bearing the snake; he was never one to back down from a challenge presented by an elf.

"Haldir," said Elrohir, "Heat the water and add along that funny-looking red leaf in my pack." The Lorien elf nodded and scurried off to do as was instructed.

Rebekah raised an eyebrow at him, and her clear blue eyes were screaming, _Funny looking red leaves? Are you sure you know what you're doing?_

He gave her a wry look, and was unsurprised when she silenced and decipehered it as _Do you have any brighter ideas?_

"Aaron," said Elrohir, "My father is one of the finest healers that have ever crossed these lands. I cannot promise you his hands, or his knowledge. But he taught me well, and I can promise you a distant second to the best, and a lot of effort. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," replied the bewildered young man.

"Excellent," said the elf, as he proceeded with wiping the blood from the wound, to have a clearer picture of the puncture. "Would you want to know what I'm about to do?"

"Yes," replied Aaron, nervously again, his voice shaking, "Are you going to cut it off?"

"No, no," said Elrohir, "You get to keep the limb and live, or you get to keep the limb and die. Does that assure you?"

"Somewhat," said the young soldier, chuckling nervously, "I wouldn't want to loose my fighting hand."

"Well it won't be fighting once this peace is settled," said Rebekah, "But if you live, you can use it some other way."

"Of course, my lady," said Aaron, smiling dreamily up at her.

"This is what will happen," explained the elf, "Gimli the dwarf will be drawing venom from the spider that bit you. He will do this by taking a jar, and then covering up its mouth with a piece of washcloth. And then he will have the snake bite at the washcloth, such that its venom drops down to the jar. The jar will then be taken to my friend Haldir, the pompous golden elf with our boiling water and red leaves over there. He will mix the venom in, and I shall have you drink the entirety of the thing."

"You're going to kill me," Aaron breathed.

"Oh no," said Elrohir, "Oh no, my friend. The science of it is quite simple. You see how the snake bears poison but is not killed by it? It's because as its carrier, his body counters the poison by antivenin within its system… Antivenin that my funny red leaves will be drawing out, and which your body will borrow upon ingestion. Not permanently of course. You can get bitten by a snake tomorrow for instance, and not be immune. But it will work, as your body rids itself of the poison."

"I've never heard of this treatment before," said Aaron.

"You've never met anyone like me before," winked Elrohir, "Although… don't make a habit of getting stung. I did not bring too much of the funny red leaves from my home." He laughed, "I kept thinking I'd be the only one who'd end up needing it."

* * *

Aaron slept peacefully as the antivenin worked its magic. Elrohir decided to camp the group out for a few hours more as he considered his situation over a map. The sun was setting in an orange blaze, quite the sight even from just the mouth of the cave.

"What's on your mind?" Haldir asked, seated beside him and the dwarf too.

"I'm thinking we've gone on with the camels far enough," replied the elf, "We can probably send them back already, with the wranglers of course, and Aaron with them. We've gone this same route with just our horses before, and they are quite rested."

Haldir nodded, "All right. This is amenable to me." He smirked, and Elrohir felt a jest coming along, "But I thought you had taken a liking to that creature of yours."

"Ah yes," smiled the elf, "But you know, in this life we must make do with sweet partings. I was imagining a camel in Imladris. It seemed strangely attractive but alas. This is life."

"So it is," grinned the dwarf, sniffing the air and sighing, "Oh, I never thought they could make snake smell this delectable."

"I just wish I hadn't seen it raw," said Elrohir wryly, as the women, save of course for Nadina who sat quietly in a corner, set about serving the meal around.

'What do you think of the princess?' Elrohir asked the dwarf in Elvish, knowing he'd understand.

"Beautiful," the dwarf conceded, "But still. Somewhat cold. I did not think she'd be quite so frigid. The men had spoken so warmly of her. But then again, maybe she does not like strangers, much. Far less, perceived… conquerors such as ourselves."

Elrohir nodded in agreement, falling silent as the formidable Rebekah approached them with snakes on sticks and warm broth to down it with. She smiled at them tentatively, "I am wondering if our western lords are adventurous."

"Oh, I've been waiting for your offering since I smelled it," said the dwarf, gleefully accepting the fare and closing his eyes in pleasure over the exotic meal. "Mmmmm. Much, much better than Elvish bread."

"Elvish bread?" she asked, sitting across from the two warriors, interested in their culture as they've displayed with hers.

"A long story," said the dwarf over a mouthful, "Suffice to say we traveled this incredibly long, tiring road ahead with nothing but the cursed bread. 'One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man indeed,' but they said nothing of the taste!" the dwarf laughed, "One small bite is enough because one small bite is all you'd want to bite! It was quite bland."

"Oh, but it sure kept you alive, my friend," said Haldir.

"And grandmother will not take kindly to your ungrateful slander." Elrohir teased, and the dwarf blushed. To Rebekah he explained, "Master Dwarf is quite in love with her."

"I am not in love!" the dwarf retorted, "But his grandmother is very truly radiant indeed."

Rebekah's nose wrinkled. "Your _grandmother_?" her mind obviously raced with thoughts of the four, wrinkled old hags who were guarding the Princess' virtue.

"Oh she looks nothing like that," Elrohir said quickly, "We elves do not age much at all. I'm pushing quite a few centuries. Can you tell?"

Her eyes widened. "I did not know this."

"We do not die," said Haldir, "Unless of course, killed and felled by swords and things. But we do not age, we do not get sick."

She looked perplexed. "Only the gods are immortal."

"We're the Firstborn," said Elrohir, "Not gods, but closer than anyone else who walks the Earth."

"That's why they are so arrogant," the dwarf said good-naturedly, "As you may have seen for yourself."

"This is fascinating," she said intently, "What histories you've seen! If I drank your blood would it make me immortal as well?"

_Scary thought_, Elrohir mused wryly.

"I recognize the belief," said Elrohir, "Like the tale of the Blood of Darat."

"Yes, yes," she said, urging him on excitedly. He was very much liking the warmth of her spirit.

"Oh it does not apply to elves," replied Elrohir, "And I am not just saying that just to keep you from slitting my throat during the night."

"A shame," she said mock-gravely, her eyes twinkling, "It may have given me a much more justifiable reason for killing you, outside of that arrogance the dwarf spoke of."

To be continued…

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HEY GUYS!

thanks for the encouraging c&c's, they really seriously keep me going, especially since i've been finding myself stuck lately. oh well, i'll keep going anyway and hope i never disappoint you. on another note, if you've followed my fic For Every Evil, i've been working on the sequel, as well as a prequel. lots of fun, haha. keep the reviews coming if you can and i'll keep the chapters coming (double post again; since one post does not have the promised A/L in it, i post another chapter so as not to disappoint). so there. 'til the next one!


	23. Interlude 7: Fleeting Moments

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

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**PART THREE: Roads**

_Interlude 7_

_The Return of the King: Fleeting Moments_

_March 6, 3019_

_The Road to Edoras_

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_

_It was another journey for the three hunters toward Edoras, to celebrate the victory at Helm's Deep. There was no surprise such celebrations were not held in the fortress itself- the stench of the dead there was still quite heavy, aside from the fact that the victory had to be celebrated in the King's seat of power._

_The elf was still somewhat under the weather, but upon waking fully and discovering that all the work in the Keep regarding the burial of his kin was more or less done, he desperately desired for escape. And his friends were only all to willing to indulge him._

_And so they rode, to meet the party that had gone to Isengard in Edoras for that celebration. Eowyn rode with them, as did most of the people of Rohan who had gone to the Keep. The dwarf shared a horse with the fair lady, for he did not want to jar the elf's side wound by riding behind him and clutching at his waist for dear life, as was the dwarf's usual custom. _

Besides_, the dwarf thought ruefully_, the lady is infinitely better company than _some_ elf.

_As always, the elf rode at the head of the column, and this time he was joined by the watchful _adan_. This was, of course, a journey much different from any journey they've made together; things have already been said in the fiery spirit of the fleeting moments that cannot be taken back. But now some time's passed since that night, they've not had a chance alone to truly decipher what it all meant, and they therefore remained unsure of each other. So they rode mostly in silence of the things that most needed saying._

Again_, Legolas thought darkly. _After last night, we are somehow once again back in this place

_"I hope it's not about me," the _adan_ said suddenly with a straight face, looking at the elf with a sidelong gaze as he kept his eyes on the road. His lips were quirking, and his eyes were shining._

_Legolas shot him a look. "Excuse me?"_

_"You look like murder in the making," said Aragorn, "I hope it's not about me, whatever you're thinking about."_

_'Well fat chance,' Legolas retorted in Elvish._

_The man glanced at him, actually had the gall to smirk. 'Is this something you truly want to get into now?'_

_Legolas glanced behind him at the other riders and walkers. They couldn't possibly understand the language, save for snatches the dwarf picked up, but he was too far down along the line to hear them. Still. It would feel strange._

_'I didn't think so,' said Aragorn triumphantly._

_'Is that why…?' Legolas inquired, drifting off._

_'Why I've kept my mouth shut?' Aragorn finished, 'You can say that, _mellon-nin_. Have you ever known me to keep such passions secret otherwise? I've never done things halfway, Legolas. But that is me. Why have _you_ kept silent?'_

_'I've always kept silent I suppose,' the elf begrudgingly admitted, 'Besides. I was ill. I wasn't sure if it happened really or it was just… just some dream…'_

_'It was real,' Aragorn assured him, 'I believe I've told you how I felt and you've returned the sentiment. And you can bet your fancy bow that I'd never let you forget it.'_

_'Forget what?' Legolas asked, pretending to be obtuse._

_The man smirked, but called the bluff. 'That we've found each other at last.'_

_

* * *

_

_Late Night,_

_Edoras

* * *

__It was a good night._

The stars were veiled_, and the war was far from over, but still. Meriadoc and Peregrin managed not only to survive but to fell the considerable __tower__ of __Isengard__ by some blind luck or heretofore unrecognized genius. The reunion was heartening, and made an impossible victory feel just the slightest bit more near. The celebration was enjoyable, the elf won his very first drinking game victory…_

It's still a good night_, Legolas mused, looking over the land from the vantage point of the empty landing outside the Golden Hall. The revelers had by now fallen asleep or fallen drunk, and all was quiet. He closed his eyes as the breezes played with his hair and touched his face. He shivered slightly- an anomaly for elves, but he was still recuperating and besides, the breeze came from the dark east. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head._

_He heard the signature, inhumanly light footsteps of the Ranger come up behind him. He smiled to himself, and turned to face the new arrival._

_"I thought you've fallen asleep," Legolas said._

_"No," replied the _adan_, "I was just checking on things. Everyone seems well settled by now."_

_"Gimli?" asked the elf._

_"We dragged him to the sleeping quarters," Aragorn answered with a quiet laugh, "He is even more difficult when he is drunk."_

_"Did he say any naughty, lewd things?" inquired Legolas, "I heard it happens."_

_"I believe you've already heard the burnt of it," replied Aragorn, chuckling, "Little hairy women. Dear gods."  
Legolas smiled, settled down to sit on the cool rock of the floor. The man sat down beside him._

_"And the Lady Eowyn?" the elf asked, pretending to be busy with settling his cloak around him, "I noticed you have… you have a bit of a partiality for her."_

_"She is very lonely," Aragorn murmured, "And I enjoy her company. I mean to show her kindness in a world that's treated her quite roughly. But I do not share her affections. And you know why."_

_The elf fell silent. He stared at the distant horizon. How terrible it is, to sound like a horrid, jealous lover. But then things had been said last night, there was no denying it. These things had to be asked, if they were to move forward._

_And now that they were in the subject of loves and of women, there was no mistaking the perfect changeover into the rather considerable complications presented by the Evenstar and Lilian of Lorien. People whom up to now, he's been avoiding any thought of._

_"There are," said Aragorn haltingly, apparently thinking along the same lines, "There are problems that we both unfortunately share."_

_"We are both men," the elf said, before he could stop himself. Maybe it was the liquor. He laughed nervously._

_"What of it?" the _adan _asked him._

_"I do not know… I do not know what I should hate more," the elf said, "This body that keeps me from you, or this heart that pulls me toward you. I'm tearing myself apart. I do not know what to hate more."_

_"You can just love me," the _adan_ said simply._

_"It's not an option," the elf said miserably, "It's a bloody _event_, and it's already happened."_

_Aragorn smiled tightly at this, before narrowing his eyes in thought. "How much of love belongs to the body, Legolas, really, especially when the spirit won't always be encased by it? For a man like myself, upon birth we're already promised separation from the flesh in death. The years in which we are encased in these bodies is but a fragment of time. Souls are always encouraged to reach out beyond the material, out toward infinity, out toward the things we cannot always readily touch, because death will ultimately bring us there anyway. Death is our forced freedom from the flesh. Love is the kind that we choose."_

_The elf stared at him for a long moment. "I can just love you," he said tentatively._

_"The body is incidental, almost," Aragorn continued quietly, but fervently and insistently, "A man can love a man just as an elven woman can love an _adan_. In love, the body is almost like a prison. Have you heard about these old Earthen legends about why people make love?"_

_"I cannot readily recall," the elf replied._

_"Long ago, the spirits of two people meant to be together were one," said Aragorn, "And they traversed this life without boundaries, without death. Unified and eternal. And then the gods were wronged, and they separated this spirit into two, confined them in flesh that keeps what should be this singular spirit from being re-joined. It is this flesh that stands between them even as they move closer, even as they kiss, even in embrace. And when one makes love, it seems that one can never get close enough. The bounds of the flesh is like a prison, how we long to be free. The clothes are torn off, but how we wish, in the greatest of our longing, that it was skin instead. You draw each other close, but it is never close enough. You want more, you need more. And all too soon it is done. _

_"The body," said the _adan _conclusively, "It can be a prison. You need not worry about loving an _adan_, or a fellow male, my friend. We unfortunately have greater problems."_

_"I am heir to a Kingdom," said Legolas, "As are you. We are duty bound to sire children. And I believe that many of our constituents won't be sharing your sentiments about love. And then…" he paused, "And then there are those who own our promises. Have you any answers for these?"_

_"No," the _adan _winced, though he tried to smirk and kid, "I reckon I answered the first riddle and these next ones are rightfully yours."_

_"Fair to say," Legolas murmured, looking out over the horizon, "Oh Aragorn. If you were somebody else, and I somebody else…" he sighed. "Do you still love her?" he asked, after a long moment of thought._

_"I…" the man hesitated, "I do. I suspect I always will. Yourself?"_

_"Yes," Legolas replied thoughtfully, "I love her too. How strange this is." He breathed, "So. What is the true question here? Can one person love two people equally at the same time? Is it even love at all if it is conflicted thus? Is one love perhaps greater than the other? Is it even the same kind of love…?"_

_"The real question," said the _adan _wistfully, "Is perhaps… Who can you choose without regret?" he paused, "Or… or perhaps, perhaps things are simpler."_

_"How so?" inquired Legolas._

_"We look too far away," replied Aragorn, "We look so much ahead that we stumble over the things that are right in front of us. We stand upon a cliff. Life can end tomorrow. I love you, and I am with you. I will not waste the remainder of our minutes worrying over things I cannot at present help or change. Victory is a hope, not a certainty. In a week maybe all these kingdoms we fear to run will be burned to the ground, maybe all our people will be dead and buried. Maybe, maybe, maybe. The only certainty is that I love you. And we are together."_

_The elf_ _smiled, teasing. "Short-sighted. But effective. What to do now? Seal the bargain by spitting on our hands and shaking on it, perhaps?"_

_"No," Aragorn said, rising up to his feet and backing away from the elf by a few wide steps, "But we begin this together. I've said my piece. I want to do this. But you have to know you wanted to do this too. You shouldn't have the luxury of one day standing in the future and looking over this as the past and thinking I've deceived you. You shouldn't have the luxury of hating me."_

_The elf found it strangely funny and rose up to his feet as well. "What would you have me do, Aragorn?"_

_The man smiled at him slowly, earnestly. And then ever so indulgently, as if he feared to take any moment for granted, he upturned his palm, and gallantly offered his hand to the elf. _

_Legolas grinned and stepped forward. His step closed the distance between them, just as his fingers filled in the gaps between the man's fingers, just as they bridged the certainties of tonight and the doubts of tomorrow with the promise of their love._

To be continued…


	24. The Last Stop

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. excuse any possible inconsistencies haha.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, a renown and vicious warrior.

Danielli: the king of another Easterling tribe, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

**

* * *

****PART THREE: Roads**

Chapter Seventeen: The Last Stop

The Road West

* * *

They rode on in their horses, the riding party down to half after the camels, their masters and Aaron left to return to Nathaniel's lands. The route home was quite simple; the land of the Sang-agen was directly east of Rohan. They'd ride to Rohan from which they had originally set out, and then from Rohan ride south to Gondor. 

Elrohir smiled to himself at the idea of a successful mission and nearing home, not to mention the thought of air that did not burn and having so much water that he did not know what to do with it.

_In the meantime_, he frowned slightly, as a hot wind burned past his face and he blinked sank irately from his eyes, _I'm going to be swimming in a rather shameless amount of sand_.

"Your friend, he is much smarter than you," Rebekah commented, coming up to ride beside him at the head of the column. She seemed to appear from nowhere, so much a part of the dessert was she.

"What's that?" Elrohir asked, confused.

The maid nodded absently, in the general direction of the back of the line. "Haldir, the blonde fellow."

Elrohir looked toward the former Marchwarden, who was sharing a horse with Gimli the dwarf. Like the Easterlings they were traveling with, Haldir had the fancy green cloak he had picked up from the Valar knew where wrapped about his face and neck, and only his eyes could be seen.

"Interesting man," Rebekah murmured.

"You dobn't know the half of it," Elrohir smirked, "He wasn't always like that."

"Oh really?" she asked, and he watched with some amusement the artless grace of a wily, beautiful woman's brow rising, and her sky blue eyes widening just a little. Rebekah was obviously a woman who had a good head on her shoulders. She was intelligent, confident, charming when she felt like it. But gossip was gossip, it seemed, and her curiosity was making her a bit more… well, _normal_.

"He was elf through and through," said Elrohir, "More than me. You see, I traveled with the _edain_ much. But he lived with them for years. That's where we got all our rough edges."

Her lips quirked. "Yes… you, in particular, you've much of that. I imagined elves to be much more… much more…"

"Quiet?" he supplied, "Serious?"

"Humorless," she finished, "Refined."

"Ah," he grinned, "Not at all very sorry to disappoint. I happen to like laughing aloud, and scrunching my face like so," he wrinkled his nose to illustrate, "and I happen to enjoy grit and grime."

"We have a saying," said she with a laugh, and she lowered her voice when she noticed that the four old women were glaring at them hotly, "that if an ill wind passes and you're making faces such as that one, it will stay that way forever."

"I do not believe that," Elrohir said, although he did relax his face, "I bet they say that to keep naughty children from doing so. I bet also that you must have heard it quite a lot of times in your youth."

"I did not," she said primly, her chin jutting up proudly. For a moment, it seemed to the elf's eyes that she was somebody else entirely. Even her posture shifted, and the tone of her voice changed. But then with gleaming eyes, she winked at him, and he laughed.

"I thought so," he said triumphantly.

"I came forward in behalf of my lady," said Rebekah, "And our older folk. They wish for a stop."

"Then we shall comply," said Elrohir with a smile.

The rode on in comfortable silence. She kept his pace instead of returning to her mistress. The sandy dunes were eternal and stretched around them. They rose, they fell, they went on 'til forever. The path before them looked like the path they just traversed. It made one wonder if they were still going the right way. The only direction Elrohir could tell was up from down – the difference between sky and sand was as stark as the difference between fire and ice. North and south, east and west, though… there was just sand, occasionally broken by clusters of rocks and caves and mysterious shadows of sandstone mountains. They provided occasional shelter as well as water, which was of course, perpetually in short supply.

The party decided not to carry much water on their persons, for a lighter, faster ride. They did not expect to die of thirst, blessed as they were with guides who knew the water routes well. They stopped more this way for drinking, but the rides were faster. Elrohir decided earlier on that the trade-off was vital, because time was of the essence. The armistice between the Gondor front and the joint forces of the Easterlings and Southrons stretches more tautly with time, it can only be held for so long after all. The sooner Nadina and Legolas are wed and the treaties properly drafted and distributed, the sooner peace could be attained.

But they had to stop for shade and water first if they all planned to reach the West alive. Personally though, if it was the glaring old hags who wanted the rest stop, Elrohir didn't mind being thirsty a little longer if it meant they suffered too…

He smiled to himself. Such dirty thoughts, were of course, more playfulness than truth.

_This should be our last stop in this dessert_, Elrohir thought with great relief, as their Eastern scout rode ahead to lead them to one of the rocky mountains. And then they'd be West, where water sources didn't need mapping or desperate searching. Where one wasn't competing with snakes and scorpions mucking around in the shade.

"The air is cooling," Rebekah said to him, "And I've not gone as far as this from home. We must be nearing yours."

"The air is cooling?" scoffed the elf, in profround disbelief, "The air is cooling?"

"Yes," she laughed, "Trust me, it is."

Elrohir watched their scout ride into the shadows of the mountain and out of his view.

"Water and shade," the Gondorians behind him murmured, spurring their horses forward in great anticipation. Elrohir smiled tightly to himself and let them pass him in their eagerness. His constitution was much more sturdy, he can most certainly wait a breath longer for such pleasures.

"Faster, faster," he heard the delectable dwarf spur Haldir of Lorien forward.

"I'm not the bloody horse, master dwarf," grumbled the former Marchwarden, but they rode past Elrohir with barely a nod of acknowledgement.

Elrohir let them all breeze past him; the Easterlings, the old women virtue guards, the princess, the Gondorians, his friends. Rebekah beside him pressed her horse forward too.

The sand beneath them thinned and turned to firm, uneven rock, just as the cliff walls rose around them, jagged fists of the Earth reaching for the skies. It was like a city of stone, surrounding a wide-mouthed cave.

And then quite suddenly, the urgency of finding relief in water and shade was replaced by a new form of urgency altogether. From the back of the column, Elrohir noticed with some alarm that the group stopped suddenly and fell silent, just a breath before the scout burst forth from the opening of the rock ranges to ride toward him.

The Rivendell elf strained his senses, and rode to meet the scout halfway, asking, "What is it?"

"Another camp, my lord," replied the Easterling, "But we see only their effects, and not their persons."

Elrohir rode forward once more, and noted the curious sights and sounds of indeed, another party camping in the mountain. His senses bristled, and his horse shifted nervously. There was a dying campfire, some discarded silks and other miscellaneous things scattered on the ground. But no people.

The riding party froze in their tracks. Elrohir's mind raced. He wasn't supposed to be nervous; these were Nathaniel's lands and therefore, the forces couldn't be a hostile army because Nathaniel was an ally now. And besides, these were mapped water-sources. Perhaps the other party was comprised of travelers, merchants. He certainly couldn't see any military effects. But then again, they could be bandits too…

He looked up at the jagged cliffs surrounding them worriedly.

"I want everyone to surround the women," he said in a low voice, and the horse-borne Easterling and Gondorian soldiers made a protective circle that ensconced the princess, her maid and her aging chaperones.

"And now we shall have a slow and careful retreat," he said, as they slowly backed out the way they came. He still stared up at the cliffs. They did not make for very bad hiding places for an ambush at all.

"If this turns out to be all for nothing laddie," he heard Gimli mutter, "I'll be the first to laugh. And the loudest."

"We'll eagerly listen, master dwarf," Haldir hushed him.

But no sooner that the backmost horse's hoof touched sand again that they heard a foreign-tongued signal shouted, the precursor of archers emerging from the tops and cracks of the cliffs overhead. Their clothes were gray and wrinkled, weathered like the sand and the rocks in almost perfect camouflage. There was about fifty of them, heavily armed men with faces obscured by their cloaks. One of them was shouting commands at Elrohir's party.

"Adriano," called Elrohir to the bilingual valet, "What is he saying? Who are they? Do they live here? Have we violated any laws?"

"This is not theirs," replied Adriano, "This is the King Nathaniel's property, and we are his highest ranking servants, we have more rights than any settlers or traveling parties. Note the arrows and the knives, my lord. We are face to face with what must be some of the hardiest bandits of the Sang-agen. They are the largest bunch I've seen."

"These are hardly simple outlaws, young one," said one of the old women carefully. She was staring at the apparent leader of the bunch, the one who held no arms but stood akimbo as he stared down at them.

"What is he saying?" Elrohir asked.

"He wants us to lay down our arms," Adriano replied, "If we want to stay alive."

"You will do no such thing," said the old woman who had just spoken, "No. Keep those arms and do not deal with this man."

Elrohir waved at her to keep quiet, and glanced around him, wondering when it was that Estel had ever given him anything simple to do. The odds were bad, if they tried to struggle.

"Tell him to take very careful note of the colors we carry," Elrohir ordered the aide, "Tell him to think this through very carefully. Ask him if he wants nothing short of six or seven kingdoms burning his tail if we should come to harm."

Adriano raised his voice and spoke to the leader of the group, conveying Elrohir's message. The bandit leader replied coolly, and Elrohir noted their translator's uncomfortable wince.

"He says," aid Adriano, "That it is those colors you are so proud of that gives him more to deal with. Ransom."

"Tell him he's shortsighted," snapped Elrohir, "Tell him to let us have our drink and set us on our way. He is interfering with an important mission that spells the end of the war."

Adriano did as he was told, and the bandit leader retorted something in return. "He says ransom first. He does not care about our affairs. He has his own problems."

Elrohir's mind raced. "Tell him to release some of us. Who he releases will be our choice. Most will stay and we will all behave. Those released will relay his message and he will get his ransom shortly afterward."

Yes, that was fair. He can pick Nadina, two of her old chaperones, Haldir and one Gondorian and one Easterling soldier for release. That way, the princess can be safe and the treaty set into motion. At least the bandits knew how important the rest of them were; they wouldn't kill, they'd wait for the bloody ransom and they'll get it, just before they get arrested.

"He says he gets to choose," Adriano told Elrohir.

"No," Elrohir insisted, "Tell him we get to choose. Or else we fight, and we fight until we die, and he'd loose not only his hostages and his money but many of his men as well."

As Adriano translated and waited for the leader's reply, the anxious old woman said urgently to Elrohir, "Do not deal with him. We must run." She was still staring at the bandit leader with wide eyes.

"Please calm down," Elrohir implored her, mistaking her anxiety for an inexperienced woman's fears. "I will take care of us."

"No, no," she urged, "Do not deal with him. He is lying. He wants no simple ransom. We will run if we must, and yes, some of us will die. But some of us will live too. If we stay here, I promise you we will all perish."

"I will take care of us," Elrohir hushed her, turning his attention to Adriano instead, "What did he say to that?"

"You do not know him," the old woman insisted, "He is Morgetti."

"Who?" Elrohir asked.

Rebekah's head shot toward the old woman. "Morgetti? But my father said--"

"I know his face. Now we must run," the old woman cut her off, and the old woman's horse was sharing her anxiety now, pounding its hooves, breathing harshly, making the horses that surround it back away.

"He said he gets to pick," said Adriano, "He says your bargaining position is nonexistent."

"We must run," the old woman said again, "At the very least, he will take the princess for his own wife, I guarantee it. And then he will kill us all. And then where does your precious treaty go?"

"We run we die," Elrohir snapped, "Their shooting positions are superior."

"We stay we die," the old woman said, before shifting in her own tongue and saying something to Rebekah. The maid shook her head vigorously.

"No," Rebekah said. The old woman argued. The horses were getting restless.

"Out of curiosity," Elrohir said, "Just who would he choose?"

As Adriano translated, the old woman and Rebekah argued in low tones, in their own tongue. The Easterling soldiers were looking at them worriedly.

"He said," Adriano told Elrohir, "that the only ones who get to stay are the two elves, the dwarf, the princess. Everyone else is released."

"No bargain," said Elrohir, "The princess is urgently needed. Let her release be a sign of his good will. Everyone else he mentioned can stay as he pleases--"

But the choice was soon to be taken from Elrohir and the bandit leader. The anxious old woman who desperately wanted escape pulled at the reins of her neighing horse, and it stood on two legs aggressively and kicked and bucked at the surrounding riders, as she fought her way out of the protective circle.

"Stop!" Elrohir commanded her, and the bandit leader shouted out his own commands as well. Everyone was talking and yelling at the same time.

"Stop!" Elrohir commanded the woman, as he reached to take the reins from her hands. But she was a good horsewoman, and her beast did all that she commanded. She fought her way to an opening, and she kicked her horse forward at a run. Elrohir heard the tightening of arrowstrings and he looked up at the archers over their heads, just waiting for the command to release. They were all aiming at the old woman.

"Adriano, tell them she doesn't know what she's doing," Elrohir said breathlessly, turning his own horse to follow the woman and stop her himself, "Tell them not to shoot!"

But the bandits did not listen. One archer let loose his arrow, and Elrohir heard it sing over his head and tear its way into the woman's back. His eyes blurred in pain and anger. Her body tensed and arched and fell to the sand as her horse went on and on without her in its desperate run. Her body was limp, and her last movement was the spasming and stilling of her empty hands.

He turned to look at the assailant, just in time to catch two arrows that were originally aimed for the back of his heart.

* * *

"Elrohir!" Haldir exclaimed, drawing his own bow and arrow and firing at their attackers. The otrher soldiers followed suit, and shafts of arrows rained back down at them. 

"Retreat!" Gimli exclaimed, and no one needed to be told twice. Already, everyone was making for the sands, away from the rocks and their attackers. The odds were bad, but if they could get far enough from the range of arrows, escape would be easy because the bandits hid their horses and were on foot during the ambush.

"Go! Go!" Adriano yelled to the womenfolk, as their soldiers covered their exit.

Rebekah headed the way, and stopped her dead run before Elrohir, who was swaying on his saddle. He was awake, but the arrows protruded from his chest at odd angles, and more rained all around them.

"Go," he said to her, his voice broken and breathless, "Take the princess. You know the route." He blinked in an effort to clear his wavering vision, arms reaching for his own bow and arrows.

"You're insane!" she yelled at him, "You are no good here-"

He let loose one shaft, motivated by her challenge. It met its mark, but at considerable cost to him. He coughed, managed to let loose another, before his wounds got the better of him and he began to slump over.

"Fool elf!" Rebekah exclaimed, dodging arrows from the bandits as she hopped off her horse and mounted his. She embraced him to keep him steady, took the reins from his slack hands and spirited the two of them away from there.

* * *

The skirmish did not last for very long. 

Once the women escaped, the wise thing to do was surrender. Perhaps some of them could be ransomed off and could survive. What was important was that Nadina reached the West in time.

Most of them died, though, save for Haldir, Gimli, the Easterlings Adriano and Jonah, and the Western Tadeo. Five fatalities from the Gondorians, ans four from the Easterlings. Elrohir had been shot, Haldir was sure. But he was not amongst the dead bodies recovered from the sands just outside the mountains and from within it. The hits the Rivendell elf had taken were bad, but until Haldir saw his old friend's body dragged into the fire along with the others', he saw no reason not to hope. They've defied fantastic odds many times before.

In the meantime, there was each other to care for. None of the survivors escaped unscathed. The five of them were rounded up to a corner, backed against a rock wall, stripped of their goods and their weapons. Two guards watched over them carefully, as the rest of the bandits gathered the dead, said their Eastern prayers, fixed their camp and readied for dinner.

"The bandit leader," Adriano said to Haldir softly, so as not to attract unwanted attention, "His name is Morgetti. The old woman was right."

"Is it safe to talk so openly?" asked Gimli urgently.

"They do not speak Westron," Adriano pointed out.

"I thought everyone in the King's service did," the dwarf argued.

Adriano shook his head, "No, no. Nathaniel insisted on it only later in his reign, when it became apparent we'd all have to deal with each other sooner or later. Morgetti left long before that. A decade before that, at least."

"I've never heard of this Morgetti fellow," Haldir murmured.

"Remember how for the Sang-agen, the victors get the spoils?" asked Adriano, "When Prince Legolas killed my lords Nicolo and Danielli, he acquired their lands, their women, their children. Everything. Remember?"

"Yes," Haldir said, urging the young man on.

"King Nathaniel did not always rule the Sang-age people," continued Adriano, "He was a promising soldier who did not like its King's abuses. So he revolted, killed and replaced the King. He became a much loved one instead. King Nathaniel is wise, and fair. Because all that was the previous King's property now belonged to him, he owned too, the King's wife and his young son- Morgetti. Normally, the children of the deceased were killed, so as not to rebel in the future. But the Queen killed herself, and let it be known that if her son was killed, her vengeful ghost will always haunt the household. But she needn't have done such an act just to save the life of her child. Nathaniel always reasoned that the father's crime is not the son's. He always meant to spare the life of Morgetti. Upon the mother's tragic death, Nathaniel did not raise Morgetti as a prince, of course, but he taught him to be a good soldier, and a decent man."

"And he was," Jonah continued for Adriano, "At least for a short time. Morgetti rose up the ranks, became a captain. He was even charged with one of the country's most important missions."

"What would that be?" asked Gimli.

"The search for the Blood of Darat," replied Adriano, "Quite a number of years ago, someone was convinced of a realistic lead toward finding the fabled elixir for immortality. But then… his army all but vanished, off the face of the land. Legend has it they found the Blood and joined the gods in heaven. The King's advisers are more realistic than the masses, though. They believe that Morgetti deserted, and created his own army to one day depose Nathaniel. I suppose now we know for sure that the truth must be the latter. As the old woman said… this is not just a group of knaves, my lords. We've stumbled upon Morgetti's Lost Army."

"I understand now why he'd have particular interest in keeping the princess," said Gimli, "He can have the lass ransomed for the land! Or," he wrinkled his nose, "Married her and took a share of it."

"The old woman was indeed right to run away," said Jonah, "She must have known she would die. But the distraction she provided saved the princess, and your East-West treaty, in the end."

"She might also be right in one other dreaded thing," murmured Haldir, "That Morgetti and his army might have us all killed. We know who they are, we know where they hide, we know they are near and they might be coming to claim Nathaniel's lands. Perhaps our surrender was not so wise after all."

The others nodded wistfully, before their attention was caught by the arrival of some more of the 'bandits' from the dessert.

"They did not have the luxury of pursuit," Adriano said urgently, "Because they hid their horses. We were still lucky, in that sense, that some of us were able to run away."

"They've recovered more bodies," said Jonah, "From nearby. Those they shot, or perhaps those who were shot but died along the road." His voice wavered in worry. Was the princess amongst them…?

They saw the robes of four women. The five captive soldiers angled for a look, making their guards nervous.

"Oh dear gods," breathed Gimli. He sighted three more of the four old women, all dead, like that first one who had been shot in an effort to distract the archers. The last figure was smaller, younger, gentler in features than her craggly chaperones.

_Nadina_, he realized. The young princess was tossed in amongst the dead, quite cavalierly. Morgetti watched the process without even blinking, his intense eyes reflecting the flames of the ever-growing fire. He seemed more thoughtful than angered or aggrieved over her loss.

"No," breathed Tadeo, although for some strange reason, the Easterlings with them seemed relieved.

"Do not despair, my friends," Adriano told the dwarf, the elf and the sole Gondorian soothingly, "I'm afraid I must apologize for the ruse. That is not the real Nadina."

"What?" Haldir asked.

"The woman who was introduced to you as the Princess Nadina," said Jonah, "The woman tossed into the fires. She is actually the princess' maid. Her name was Rebekah. She is the dead one we all look upon now."

"And the maid that was introduced to us?" asked Gimli.

"She is the real Nadina," said Adriano, "Nadina and Rebekah have traded places to fool you. The princess always liked getting the upper hand, especially in gleaning information. And look. Now she's also successfully escaped."

"Why would she do such a thing?" asked Tadeo.

"Well the conventions 'Rebekah' spoke of are true," replied Adriano, "The bride-to-be is not to speak to the kin of her betrothed. But the real princess has a strong will and a sharp mind. She does not like standing back. The pretension allowed her the room to see how you folk interact when not in formal diplomacy, as you would act before a princess. She wanted to see what kind of people you were. You see how much better you knew the woman you thought was the maid than you did the one you thought to be the princess? Nadina never feared to walk amongst us common folk. That is why she is much loved. She is like her father."

"So 'Rebekah' is Nadina," Gimli clarified.

"Yes," said Adriano, "And I'm afraid we must try out our own pretensions as well."

"What do you mean?' asked the dwarf suspiciously.

"My lord Haldir," said Adriano to the elf, "I'm afraid I'd have to introduce you as Legolas of Mirkwood."

"Why is that?" asked the elf.

"Because the likelihood that we'd all be killed is lessened by the considerable… _price_, of the Prince, if you will," said Adriano matter-of-factly, "He is much more expensive than a retired Marchwarden from a fading kingdom, and it is easy to mistake you. They'll keep you alive longer. The dwarf is a lord as well and holds his own value. I'm the interpreter. And if you can think of fancy titles for our other friends, that would be optimal."

"No," argued Tadeo, "That will arouse suspicion. What are the odds of everyone 'important' surviving? There has to be dispensible characters in your charade, my lord. I am old, I've lived a full life, and am willing to play such a part."

"As am I," said Jonah, meeting the Gondorian soldier's eye determinedly, "It seems, my old enemy, that we find ourselves on the same side."

The old soldiers grinned at each other, almost manically. The wars made curious comrades of all her soldiers, from all her sides. They shared the same, lethal fates, the same crimes, the same determination. How late it is that they were all learning they were more alike than different. Haldir prayed that just as this realization was made, it will not end in death for those enlightened. The men were great soldiers, and even better people.

"Let it be done then," Gimli breathed.

"I must warn you of one thing, however," Adriano said to Haldir, "They won't be overly… um… _gentle_ with you."

"Oh?" Haldir asked, his brow quirking.

"They'll keep Legolas of Mirkwood alive," said Adriano, "But he is widely known as one of the finest slaughterers of the Easterlings. I've heard tall tales about some _mumakil_ and its entire regiment being felled by him single-handedly on foot, but we'll talk about that later. They will keep you alive, but they might hurt you a little."

"Fantastic," muttered the Lorien elf, "I'll be trailing across the dessert bearing _the_ hated elf's name. What luck. To pay for things I didn't do."

"Or a thing no one probably ever did!" exclaimed Jonah, "A _mumakil_ against a single elf on foot? Ridiculous!"

"It happened," Gimli swore to them, "Oh, I was there. It happened." He turned to Haldir, "Unfortunately for you."

To be continued…

* * *

hey guys:) thanks so much for the c&c's... i'm nearing the end of this fic, actually. and once again, a double post for your enjoyment (or misery, but i hope not!). your comments are always always always welcome, they help enrich the story. it's getting thicker, i know- more characters, more twists... but i do hope you stick around. i'm going to be bringing back Legolas and Aragorn from the interludes to the prersent timeline in a few days, so look out for that. i'm also angling for an ending you may or may not expect. anyway, THANKS SO MUCH again and 'til the next post!

in the meantime, just some responses:

to eleveneyes: ah, yes, the biblical names are coincidences, but i do like how exotic they sound and they remind me of the desert so, haha, i guess that's how they came together:)

to abernaith: i didn't know that! i'm really so happy that you appreciate how i depict love... this is like a new tack for me in the lotr fandom so i really really appreciate it :)

to aranna: i think your english is pretty good! and yes, i do tend to lean to the philosophical, haha. especially when it comes to m/m love because i'm trying to find out the reason why. i mean, it's such a nightmare, right, it's so hard for them. love is hard enough to find without society pressing its masculinity/femininity conventions upon them, so i think it's doubly hard. and i don't think the feelings can't be helped; who'd want the hardship or the negative stigma unfortunately attached to them? so there. you're right, the philosophical stuff comes from me basically wondering how men can love other men despite it being really very hard.

to elessar-lover: oh wow, as always, i'm just really very very thankful for your faith. i know it's a leap, and it's a leap for me too, but i truly truly treasure your trust :)

'TIL THE NEXT POST:)


	25. Interlude 8: Borrowed Time

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**

* * *

**

**PART THREE: Roads**

_Interlude 8_

_The Return of the King: Borrowed Time_

_Rohan_

_

* * *

_

Gondor calls for aid.

And Rohan will answer

_But before these faterful words were uttered between two kingly, living legends, the agony of the past few days' waiting was softened only by the time it gave Aragorn and Legolas to be together. _

_The Golden Hall and the vast horse plains that surrounded it was giving them time, and comfort, and each other, carving a place in their hearts forever._

_The __Kingdom__ of __Theoden__ picked up itself after the nightmares of the last few weeks, and there was always some sort of work to be done. But for the elf and he who laid claim to that immortal heart, the day was never so full that the late afternoons never afforded them a breath to watch the sunset._

_They'd take their horses and ride out to the fields, where the view was the best. And then they'd dismount, let their horses run about as they willed. They always came back, and it was a wonder to watch them as they ran, free. Their hooves pounded against the ground. There was a curious bounce to a horse running, as if they hung afloat on the air for a moment longer than one expects, and then land back to the ground resoundingly. The pounding resonated, resembling a heart beat, and sounded so deep it must have reached to the center of the earth. It was glorious to see, how the beasts almost could defy time._

_Here on this hill, nothing happened of the world save that the sun was setting and the moon was rising and the horses were running. They spoke not of whether or not Denethor will ask for help, or if Theoden should respond. They spoke not of Gondor, not of Kings and __Queens__ and contested lands._

_Here on this hill, the world was wide, too wide. And they were too small to halt the sun and the moon. All that lovers had was each other, and each other's eyes was the extent of the horizon, the extent of one's vision. One went no further, and one did not need to. _

_To feel small… to indulge in the very breaths of the moment… was an experiment in being somebody else. Here they weren't kings and princes. They were not soldiers. How free it felt to sit there, faces to the wind, hair moving with the breezes, palms cooled by the earth. In this place, they were not shapers of history with tremendous responsibilities. They were just the barest noticeable parts of the Earth, and it was comforting that they did not have anything to do but be together and wait out the world as it changed from day to night._

_"If you were an animal," the question began, and they laughed because it was silly. To speak of silly things was a silly necessary comfort. It might have been desperate pretense- _there is nothing before us but this moment, and whatever it is kind of nonsense your mind comes up with next- _but it was no less necessary is keeping the illusion of time stretched._

_"Eagle," the elf said at once, not giving it much thought, "They are beautiful, and they can fly."_

_"Typical," the _adan_ teased him, pretending to be disappointed._

_"I suppose you'd want to be a warg," said the elf, primly, "It most certainly fits you. Unconventional, thick-headed… Not very pretty."_

_Tha man laughed. "Ah, you think so?"_

_"I jest," smiled Legolas, "But you long knew that. You just like me saying otherwise." _

_From the view Edoras, two envious sets of eyes looked to the West, to where the sun was setting, highlighting the two figures seated on the hill. It was Eowyn of Rohan and Gimli the Dwarf._

_"I wonder what sorts of things they talk about," the dwarf mused._

_"A man would want another man before he could want me," Eowyn muttered to herself, inadvertently ignoring her companion, occupied as she was with her own thoughts. The slur was apparent enough in her statement, expressed much of her disapproval. But she understood only too well that the heart found love where it did, one was enslaved by it. It could push a man to love another man just as it could push her to love one who did not return her affections. It was love that was the real tyrant, not war._

_The dwarf beside her said nothing. "I once was invited to that afternoon sunset walk. It did not take me long to discover that though I was welcomed by friends, the occasion gave them time that they cannot have elsewhere. Far it be for me to interfere."_

_"I suppose you do not like being stuck with me either," she said to him, her lips quaking a little in suppressed laughter._

_"You are sour company," the dwarf said, "When you are acting like a jealous wife."_

_And then Gondor called for help. And then Rohan decided to answer, and they were moving again. And then _time_ was moving again. And though elf and man knew for a certainty that it led to parting- either they both died or they both survived and returned to their women- they moved with it, starved as they were for options and as drowned as they were in responsibilities._

_Man and elf rode a man apart, Theoden and Eomer of Rohan between them. The King of the Horse-lords headed the column of riders, flanked by his nephew, the heir of Isildur and the Prince of Mirkwood. The distance was an unsurprisingly welcome one. Both of them were enmeshed in their thoughts of the battles to rage ahead. And besides, affections such as theirs was never meant for the eyes of a prejudiced world, they might as well not stand close together that the others may see. It was meant only for each other, and for the ultimate judging of the gods, who must know far more clearly the intricacies of the soul- it was the gods after all, who had brought them together._

But then again_, Legolas thought with a wince, _It is also the gods who seek to part us in the end – in flesh, in ultimate destiny. What do they want of us, I wonder, that they should give to us this gift only for the briefest of touches, the most fleeting of moments, this undoubtedly borrowed- nay stolen, time?

_He glanced at the _adan_ in a sidelong manner. Aragorn wore this face so coolly, this fearless, impervious leader with naught but the fate of his land and his people lodged in his heart. It was true, most of the time. But love and loving was his one secret vice, for it sure seemed as if he could never find the right one to love- elves and fellow men… Aragorn surely reached for the stars and seemed bent too, on defying all the odds. In war victories, just as in those battles one made in love._

What's your problem_? The elf thought toward him helplessly._

_"A sigh escapes you," the dwarf murmured from where he rode behind the elf, thick arms wrapped about Legolas' waist._

_"I tire of warring," replied the elven Prince, saying part of the truth, "And I worry for our friend's kingdom, what its fall could mean to all of us."_

_"Thankfully," said the dwarf, "That ceases to be our problem. If Gondor falls, I'm sure we will die with it. I see these faces about us, and I do not think we will stop until we've won or our breaths have stilled and been stolen from us."_

_It was strangely comforting. If they won then victory is always a welcome wonder. If they lost then at least everything had ended, and they'd likely not have very long to dwell on defeat, for the sleep of death will claim them quickly. Sauron will not have any mercy._

_"Do you think those forces King Theoden called upon will meet us?" Gimli asked the elf._

_"Everyone is occupied turning to the defense of their own lands," murmured Legolas, "But our hopes cannot fail us yet. They must all know what the defense of Gondor means to the fate of all the lands in the long run. Many will come."_

_

* * *

_

_As they waited for the forces from all across Rohan to respond to the summons of their King, the soldiers made camp on the last stop before Gondor. It was at this time that the Lord of Imladris came _in behalf of one he loves.

_And then it was too, that Aragorn was called to _become who he was born to be

_Because Arwen is dying._

_The elf heard the exchange from his post outside the tent. There were few things elves did not hear, especially since he heard that the _adan_ was roused from a much-needed rest by a very important visitor. He meant to barge in on the meeting; he and Aragorn kept no secrets as friends, much less now that they were more. But news of Arwen froze him where he stood._

You don't know what you ask of him, my lord!_ He wanted to scream and rage. The Evenstar is dying. But to ask Aragorn into the path that will save her life… you make him a King, and you kill the Ranger and all that the Ranger loved. Anonimity, independence, freedom, me._

_But one loved Aragorn because he was quite plainly, a good man. The best kind. One loved Aragorn because he did the things that needed doing. And though what Aragorn was going to do would ultimately tear them apart, one expected no less, and one loved Aragorn because he was doing the right thing by Arwen._

How ironic_, the elf thought bitterly, _To love him more because he will break us apart. When will you learn to be a little bit more selfish, my friend…?

_The soldiers of Rohan were staring at him, standing at the entrance of the tent and yet refraining from entering. He took a deep breath to calm himself. _

Aragorn's choices are painful enough_, he decided, chastising himself, _without seeing you this way.

_"Onen i estel Edain," he heard Lord Elrond say – I give hope hope to the dunedain._

_"U chebin estel anim," breathed Aragorn, echoing words that had once belonged to someone else but could now very well be his own – I keep none for myself._

_The elf blinked at tears unbidden, thinking, _if you can give so much that you are emptied, Aragorn… then so could I.

_Legolas__ strode away, to make ready his horse. Aragorn may be headed toward his kingship and ultimately toward Arwen, but Legolas wasn't going to let him ride alone_.

_

* * *

_

_"We need you here."_

_Aragorn paused from preparing his horse and the things he might need for his journey into the Paths of the Dead, to turn to the woman with the wounded eyes, asking him why he was leaving them why he was, particularly, leaving her. It was the first of a number of goodbyes he did not want to make, first of the questions he did not want to have to answer._

_"Why have you come," he murmured._

_"Do you not know?" she asked him, injured, disbelieving._

_"I cannot give you what you seek," he said, quite plainly, as all truths went. He was robbed of his breath, and his heart, and his inclinations to say anything that was more comforting. He walked away from her, made to walk away from the camp and all the questioning stares of disbelieving, fearful soldiers who quite suddenly found themselves emptier without him, their army all but beheaded, deperived of his leadership and assuring presence. Their stares stabbed through him, but the final glare was meant to be from someone else, one who seemed absent thus far._

_"Where do you think you're off to?" the impervious dwarf asked him, looking quite regal despite his questioning of a future King._

_"Not this time," Aragorn told him stalwartly, "This time you must stay, Gimli."_

_The dwarf grumbled in disapproval, but it was mostly out of habbit for he knew for a certain that he'd be going with the _adan_ anyway, whether or not he had permission. He knew this to be true, especially after the elven Prince appeared, tugging along Arod-the-infernal-beast along with him._

_Aragorn looked toward the elf uneasily, searchingly. The man feared the elf's wounded eyes, his pained questions. He feared Legolas' hurt, he feared having to leave him behind, feared his tears, feared his own possible failings at the sight of these._

Arwen is dying_, he thought he might have to say_, Time's caught up to us, dear heart. I must save her. And to save her I must be the King who cannot have you

_But instead of tears and questions, the elf looked to him with a lonely, but also carefully assuring smile. _Fear not_, he seemed to say, _You do not owe me explanations

_The _adan's_ eyes watered. How funny it was, how ridiculous was this situation that one could really die of laughter and hurt. How strange, that one can love so fiercely that one was willing to let go. Let go with an assuring smile, to say, _it's all right, go where you must, do what you must

How strange_, Aragorn thought, _that you can love me so much you can release me. And that I love you more by your letting go, and ultimately, though we love more, the more we are apart

_"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" the elf asked him, mildly, finding his voice._

_"You might as well accept it," said the dwarf stoutly, "We're going with you, laddie."_

_

* * *

__Minas Tirith__

* * *

_

_The first walk into Minas Tirith, up toward the __White__Tower__ after the victory at Pelannor Fields… The work was keeping Elessar busy, everyone was asking the King questions. There was really no time for a slow, burning victorious entrance into his kingdom, no time to gawk at the fate that brought him there after so long. _

_Legolas__ watched his old friend-- Elessar was he now, surely-- so occupied, so distant. They did not and could not even share in the marvel of the incredible __White__City__. It seemed as if they shared in nothing. _

_It was not unexpected. What he did not know, especially as he slowed his pace and let himself be overtaken by the multitude of men who had urgent business with the King, was that it would be as poignantly painful as it was. The elf backed away, feeling like a nuisance, and a flood of men crowded the space he had occupied, as if he had never stood there. _

To be continued…


	26. North, South, East and West

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

**

* * *

****PART THREE: Roads**

Chapter Eighteen: North, South, East and West

The East

* * *

_It's getting colder_.

Elrohir might have said it aloud, but he wasn't entirely certain.

_It is nighttime after all_.

It might have been true. Although his eyes might have been closed also. And also, he wasn't entirely certain. But he was mostly certain that it was nighttime, because he was mostly certain that his eyes were seldom closed.

_Seldom_, he thought decisively, _Only in times when I'm grievously hurt. Such as whenever I ride off to hunt orc with my insufferable brothers and occasionally end up on the unfortunate end of a warrior's blade. Or whenever I get hit by a warg, fall off a tree, get shot by arrows…_

_Very rare occurances_, he thought, although there was something quite wrong about that, for a reason he can't quite… remember.

"Hold on, my lord," an earthy, female voice whispered in his ear, "You will find some relief shortly."

_Rebekah_, he realized, just as a flood of other less welcome memories flowed into his consciousness, stirring him awake, quickening the pace of his heart. His eyes snapped open at once. And just as he woke to memories, and the dessert, so too did he wake to the hurts that permeated his body. The arrow wounds were burning and persistent, and he could still see the shafts embedded on his chest.

"Oh dear gods…" he breathed, and he felt arms tighten around him reassuringly. It was indeed the maid Rebekah, sharing his steed and holding him steady.

"Shhh," she cooed at him, "They are flesh wounds. I did not wish to pry at them and let you bleed free, when no organs are endangered. I deemed the blood loss more threatening. I am unlearned in these arts, but was that wise?"

"In the meantime," he said softly, still weakened. His head was swaying, and he did feel cold by virtue of not just the dessert night but also by the hurts he'd taken.

"Lucky for you they missed your small, black heart," she teased, but he was quite weary and subdued that he could not even show his appreciation with a half-hearted laugh.

"You've slept a long while," Rebekah murmured, "I just remembered that I've not seen you sleep in all the time that we traveled together."

"Oh, worried were you?" he smirked, finding that though he was weary his spirits were still quite… undefeatable.

"Of course," she said softly, not bothering with pretenses, "We're quite… alone. There is no one else with us. I feared for you just as I fear for myself, traversing the rest of this road alone."

"The others?" whispered Elrohir.

"If they lived," she replied, "They have most certainly been captured."

Elrohir said nothing. He took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled indulgently. This was all of his grieving, for he was never really one to do so at length. He's known his share of loss in this infinite life. One took it in, let loose a tear or two or preferably none, if one could manage it. And then one got on with the things that needed doing, aid those who needed help. Besides, until he saw the corpses of his people and his friends, there was never a reason not to hope.

"We must head west," he said to her, "We must fetch aid. Rohan. It is not so far."

She said nothing for a long while, and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious, which path they've been following for the entirety of that time, if she even knew where it was she was going or where it was she had taken them.

"Rebekah?" he called upon her, dreading her response and also wanting it quite desperately, "Where in the world have you decided to bring us?"

"North," she said under her breath.

Elrohir reigned in his temper. She went north despite knowing quite well that their route was to the west? "All right," he breathed, "Tell me it's a hideous mistake and you didn't know what you were doing."

"Of course I know what I'm doing," she bristled at him, "We're going north. We couldn't go straight back east to Nathaniel's lands from which we came because Morgetti's army stood in our way. I couldn't go west to Rohan because I didn't know where your western outposts stood. I couldn't go south to Easterling territory that was not yet allied to the West with you, an elf. I could only go north, to the land that once was Danielli's and Nicolo's. I lived there with my mistress Nadina. I know where the outposts are, and they will help us because we are allies now."

"Well I'm quite awake already," said Elrohir, his fingers snaking to take the reins of the horse from hers, "I know the western outposts. We're going west. They must be apprised of the situation. My royal charge, taken for a hostage. How bloody embarrassing."

"We're nearer to the northern outpost by now," she cut him off, "than to the western ones of Rohan. You need medical attention as soon as we can get it. And my people need warning too. Our danger is more immediate than the danger of your hostages."

"I hardly think so," snapped Elrohir, "If the damn bandits want a ransom for the life of the princess, I have to arrange for it quickly, so we can get this treaty into motion. Estel's going to make me sell all the treasures of Imladris…" he muttered.

"I'm losing track of what you are talking about," she told him frankly, "Listen to me, my lord. That was not just a bunch of bandits we ran into, and I doubt they truly wanted simple ransom. They just wanted to appease us into surrender. So we'd be easier to control.

"That was Morgetti's Lost Army," she continued, "They are made up of Morgetti, who once was King Nathaniel's captain, his regiment of soldiers, and what must be some mercenaries he's managed to amass over the years. He deserted the Sang-agen many years ago, and it's widely believed that he's been angling for a revolution to take over the throne. No one's been able to find Morgetti and lived to tell about it. _We've_ found them, my lord. And they are nearing Sang-agen lands that they've wanted for so long. Lands which are all but defenseless because most of the Sang-agen army was dispatched to fight you cursed westerners some time ago. We must summon the army from the north to come to the defense of the Sang-age. That army is Lord Legolas' now, since he killed Danielli and Nicolo. And you are Legolas' representative. They will listen to your orders. Besides, the defense of the Sang-age from these rebels will make sense to the northern soldiers. The Sang-age is the country of their lord Legolas' wife-to-be."

"I do not want an army marauding toward Morgetti," said Elrohir, "The princess could get killed in the crossfire. We need her alive for the treaty. I know you care about your people, but I care about mine as well, and the fate of the peace for the greater number of people lies in her being alive and marrying Legolas. That is my mission, I cannot be derailed."

"Oh drown the princess," Rebekah muttered, "She can fend for herself. We're going north."

Elrohir blinked at the road ahead, for he couldn't find the strength to turn toward her. Did he just hear that?

"D-drown who?" he asked.

"Never mind," she said, "We're going north."  
"West," he argued, his hands gripping her hands as their fingers wrestled for the reins.

"North!" she exclaimed.

"West!" he insisted.

And so they struggled, and the horse was quite annoyed at them both, neighing and stomping in protest, making the tally of warring hard-headed beings up to three as the games started between Easterling woman, Rivendell elf and Rohan horse.

She triumphantly pried the reins away from him with a twist of her body, inadvertently jostling his injured shoulder. His grip slackened at once, and his vision wavered.

"You're a cheat," he said shakily, as he began to sway in his seat and slump forward once more.

"Oh gods," she breathed, tightening her hold about his waist when she realized what he meant, "I'm so sorry! I did not mean to do so horrid a thing…"

"West…" he murmured, as he fell unconscious once again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear as she held him close to her body, securing him and warming him in her arms, "I admit I erred, and I am truly sorry for your hurts. But you still won't be getting your way."

* * *

Dolores,

The Land of Danielli

In the Northeast

* * *

The Eastern edain tribes who made the fatal mistake of allying with the evil forces of Sauron were set to pay the lethal price at last. The fall of the Dark Lord after the War of the Ring sealed their fates as well.

From end to end of Middle-Earth, the armies of Eryn Lasgalen, Lothlorien, Rohan and Gondor formed an unprecedented column of soldiers marching East. Failure was an impossibility. The only question was how much success was going to cost, and it was a strict, hideously frugal barter with fate.

The warrior tribes of the East were scattered in defense of their lands. For the first time in their notorious histories of war-mongering, they were pressed into their borders and facing a definitive defeat. The armies of the West were flexing their newfound muscle, and ironically purchasing peace through the threat of a massive, destructive power.

The elves of Eryn Lasgalen and the remnants of Lothlorien faced off with the northeast, the forces of King Danielli. Directly south of the elven realms, Rohan fought against the mideastern armies of King Nathaniel. South of Rohan- Gondor, that is, faced the more massive southeastern armies.

The war comprised, then, of basically three rounds, as in old games and sporting events. The first bout, between the elves and Danielli's northeast, was won by Eryn Lasgalen under command of Legolas Greenleaf. The second bout was won by the Rohiriim by virtue of Nathaniel's surrender.

Wars, however, unlike old games, was not won by a 'best two out of three.' People lost their lives, here. And the last round can make everyone a winner, provided the peace treaty pushed through, sealed by the marriage of Legolas Greenleaf to Nadina of the Sang-age.

Such thoughts weighed heavily upon the princess, as she rode with the unconscious elven warrior encased in her arms. Elrohir had been right in his concerns for the treaty, of course. But then again, she'd been right about wanting to protect the Sang-age too. Perhaps... perhaps she'd do well to confess to him exactly who she is, that they may decide what to do together.

She passed the first of the border guards of Dolores, who all greeted her with reverence and respect, not questioning her presence or her strange companion.

'Ride ahead,' she ordered one of the men, 'Summon the healer, prepare a room. And tell my son's maid to ready his things for immediate travel.'

He nodded, and set off toward the heart of the kingdom- Danielli's palace, at a mad pace. He's never seen his queen this weary, or troubled.

* * *

Something was tickling his ear, quite insistently.

"Rebekah," he moaned, thinking that if she was trying to wake him, there was generally a host of more mature and just-as-effective tactics for doing so.

He heard a gasp, and a stifled giggle.

And then he noticed that he wasn't kept upright by the Eastern maid's warm hands, nor his back pressed against her body. He wasn't riding a horse, he was on- _dear gods, of all things great and glorious!_- a comfortable bed. He wasn't hot or cold, but quite plainly comfortable. And best of all, there were no arrow shafts protruding from his body at all.

He opened his eyes, found himself looking up at the indulgent, intricately carved and painted concave ceiling of what must be another dessert palace. He turned his head, and was quite startled to find a handsome child with incredibly dark, wide eyes staring at him. The boy's hands were tightly put over his mouth, as if he feared to breathe and wake a sleeping dragon.

"I'm sorry!" the boy whispered in heavily accented Westron. His speech carried the beats of a new but promising learner of the language, "It is your ears that are strange."

Elrohir's brows furrowed. His mind was too cloudy to comprehend exactly what the boy meant. _Does he mean to say that it's not his fault that he's curious because my ears are strange?_

"You look angry," the child commented, reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand next to the elf's bed and offering it up, as if in peace.

Elrohir's lips quirked, and he sat up with a grunt and a wince, before accepting the precocious boy's offering. He finished the glass in a gulp, sighed and closed his eyes in momentary indulgence.

"What time might it be?" he asked the boy.

"A few hours before sunrise," the boy answered, "My mother said your sleep was long."

"And you're not sleeping at all," Elrohir pointed out mildly, "How old are you? About five years?"

"Six," the boy said, before adding in a lower tone, "in a few months… They said mother brought in an elf. I wanted to see."

"Ah," Elrohir sighed, "Yes, they brought in an elf. You are Lady Rebekah's son?"

"Rebekah is my mother's maid," replied the boy.

Elrohir frowned, quite confused. "It was Lady Rebekah who brought me, young master. If she is not your mother, than it was not your mother who brought me here."

"I'm Dorjan," the boy said with a shrug. He did not much like being confused, and decided it mattered not who brought what where, they were both there already and one of them was an elf. An elf!

"I'm Elrohir," said the Rivendell elf with a bit of a smile, extending his hand at Dorjan to shake. Nadina's son… how strange, that the boy should be so open and chatty, whereas his mother had been quite cold and detached.

Dorjan took the elf's hand with some suspicion, but returned the shake heartily. He had a light to his face that also did not resemble his mother's placid expression. Perhaps his father, Danielli, had more vivacity to her.

Elrohir cringed at the thought of the warrior Legolas pretty much murdered out in the battle field. Legolas killed this child's father, and now this child was Legolas'… how strange, that life should bring them to such places. He wondered if Dorjan even knew the circumstances behind his father's death.

"I want to speak to Rebekah," Elrohir said, "Can you find her for me, please, young prince?"

"She is not here," Dorjan replied, just before he heard footsteps outside the elf's door and jumped in surprise. "I'm not here either," he contracted Elrohir to say, before he slid underneath the startled elf's bed, just as the door opened and Rebekah entered the room.

Her lips curved in a smile at the sight of Elrohir awake and seated, and she closed the door behind her as she stepped forward and sat down next to his hand.

He watched her carefully, noted that there was something strangely changed about her. The way she stood as if she owned everything she walked upon, her face tilted upwards as in nobility, her eyes shining and blue. Or perhaps it was just the change of clothes, and the change of scenery. Sand and grime of travel diminished much of anyone's beauty, of course, although he cannot recall thinking she was any less beautiful then. She was just… _changed_, here. For some reason.

"We're not west," he told her.

"No," she sighed, "We're not. And don't expect an apology, my lord. We arrived here in time to aid you. And I've managed to send some soldiers to the Sang-agen already. I've also kept some of our fastest riders on hand and ready to depart with a message to our Western allies. They are ready to leave at any time, except I wasn't quite sure of what you'd want me to say."

He said nothing, feeling quite secure in her foresight. Instead, he pointed downwards, mouthing, 'I have a visitor.'

She frowned at him, before her eyes lit in understanding. She pretended to sniff at the air. "Do you smell something, my lord?"

"Not quite, my lady," he replied gravely.

"I smell a rat," she said, before leaning underneath the bed and triumphantly pulling at Dorjan's laughing, squirming body. He embraced her tightly, and planted a territorial kiss to her cheek.

Elrohir watched the play with narrowed eyes. What did all this mean? That a young prince should have such naked affection for his mother's maid? That he should speak of his mother when Nadina was not here? That Rebekah should walk this land as if she ruled it? That the old hags guarding the virtue of the princess should watch him as if he was the devil? That Rebekah quite suddenly, in retrospect, filled the descriptions of the Easterling soldiers when they spoke of Nadina?

_She is the dessert_…

_Dark hair, clear blue eyes and golden skin. She is colored like the dessert; open blue skies, golden sands and shadows. She has a smile that can make a man believe he owns the world._

He frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest. She caught his stare, and pulled her son away from her body.

"Go on to sleep, now," 'Rebekah' told Dorjan, "You will have a long journey soon. Your very first."

"That's why I can't sleep," the boy complained, "Excited."

"Well if you don't sleep," she told him impishly, "And fall asleep in the morn just when you're all about to leave, I'll have you left behind here."

He wrinkled his nose at her, and she told him if he kept doing that, an ill wind will blow past his face and keep it that way forever. The young prince squeezed his mother's hands, before bowing formally at Elrohir and running for the door.

Nadina- as Elrohir was now certain "Rebekah" truly was – watched her son leave, before turning to face the ire of the Rivendell elf. She read his eyes, and opened her mouth to explain when his weary sigh cut her off before she could begin.

"I don't want to hear explanations," said the elf, "princesses like playing games all the time."

"You make it seem trivial," Nadina snapped.

"It's how I cope," he said wryly, although he was actually quite inexplicably profoundly annoyed. He didn't mind getting duped, really. At least the real princess is safe and his mission isn't such a failure. So what was so wrong about this picture?

_I think_, he thought with a nervous gulp, realizing, _I've been flirting with Legolas' wife-to-be_.

"You've sent soldiers to defend the Sang-age?" asked Elrohir instead, focusing on what was ironically a graver matter that was easier to speak of.

"Yes," she replied, "But not nearly enough, I think. Many of our soldiers haven't returned or recovered from the front when we fought the elves of the west, so we can only send so much to the Sang-age, especially when we need to keep soldiers for Dolores' own defenses. We might be susceptible to Morgetti's attack too, after all."

"You say your fastest riders are on hand?" asked the elf, "I suggest you and your son make for the west at once. Is that the journey you were speaking of with Dorjan just now?"

"Yes," Nadina replied, "I'm sending him away, to safety."

"You're going with him," Elrohir said flatly.

"No," she said, "Notice, my lord, your elven eyes are supposed to see best, I heard. Yet you seem to have missed that our people are headless, save for me. Dolores' King Danielli and General Nicolo are dead. The Sang-age's King Nathaniel is in the West. Our new lord Legolas is… wherever he is. The soldiers, the women, the children… they all turn to look at me. If I flee, they will feel unsafe. And abandonment tastes foul in my mouth, besides."

He tried to stare her down, into submission. The Rivendell Glare was quite formidable. They learned from the best of course, their dear father. But her mind was clearly made up, and she did not grow up in adversity with nothing to show for.

"We are Northeast, right?" Elrohir asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"Closer to Mirkwood than to Rohan," Elrohir said, and she nodded. "Good, good. At least I think Legolas is there. Do not wait for the rising of the sun. I will compose a message to the Prince. Your riders will deliver this message to Eryn Lasgalen." He paused, thoughtfully, "To Eryn Lasgalen, where Dorjan will also be deposited for safekeeping."

Her eyes flared for a quick moment, and he noticed her nervousness and hesitation.

"I thought perhaps," she said softly, "Dorjan… to _your_ lands."

"Legolas is your husband-to-be, Nadina," Elrohir told her flatly, "It is only right that Dorjan is placed there. And besides, he is a dear friend to me, and he is a good person. Aside from that, Mirkwood is nearest. Your son will be cared for, and Legolas will send an army for the defense of Dolores and the Sang-age. He will also likely even lead the charge."

She stared at Elrohir for a long moment. "My son will be safe there, there with the elf who mercilessly killed his father?"

"Yes," Elrohir promised, restraining a wince, "Dorjan will be safe. And forces will be sent to our aid."

"If you trust this Prince," she took his hand and clutched it tightly, saying, "Then all right. I find that I can too."

He clutched back for the briefest of moments, before he pulled his hand away.

To be continued…

* * *

HELLO GUYS!

thanks so much for the c&c's. they are always, always, always welcome. c&c's press me to work, and are probably the reasons for earlier posts (because like many writers, i get excited to hear about what you think). i hope these won't seem rushed, though, and that it's still okay. so once again, because there is no legolas or aragorn in this chapter, a double-post for you! keep the reviews coming if you can, they are always helpful, and i'll see you all on the next post:) THANK YOU:)


	27. Interlude 9: A Taste of Loss

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**

* * *

****PART THREE: Roads**

_Interlude 9_

_The Return of the King: A Taste of Loss_

_Minas Tirith_

_

* * *

Defeat had come too damn close for his liking, not to mention the brutal, unforgiving ache of a taste of loss. _

_The Black Gate held true to its menacing promises of danger. Here, illogical, insane, unnerving gambles were made, and surprisingly won. Hobbits stood on a field of outnumbered men and survived, somehow. So did two more of their kin, who destroyed a Ring and caused the fall of an empire that's long been undefeated in the world. There too, an elf stood alongside a dwarf and they fought as friends. And they lived as well._

_But it hadn't been easy. Fatalities were great, and wounds amongst the survivors were innumerable. The grandest of the field's heroes did not escape unscarred, the most hideous reminder being a rather unfortunately accessible memory to Legolas._

_A King faced up to a troll, and he was unsurprisingly downed by it. And none of his friends could reach him as he hit the ground._

_"Aragorn!" the elf had yelled, as if yelling could get him there sooner. He pushed, and pried, and clawed his way toward the _adan_, to no avail. For all his immortality, for all the years he's lived and all the years he's yet to live, he was quite certain that he won't get there in time._

_"Aragorn!" he yelled again, and oh, how that hollow sound echoed across the ages. At least, for him. His screams yielded the glorious memories of the past and all that he was losing with Aragorn's death, and it too called upon thoughts of the future they cannot have, if the other died. What was it he once had said to Eowyn of loving? _

When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Lovers own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all.

Aragorn is dying_, his mind raced, as he fought to reach his friend. _

_That had been quite the number of days ago. The man always did have a lucky streak and an excellent sense of timing. The Ring was destroyed just as he was losing his battle with the troll. And then he emerged from the battle, wounded but very much alive._

_Still, the sensation of the near-loss was not just impossible to forget… it was also quite easy to keep remembering. Because it is not only in that field of battle that Aragorn was dying._

_Legolas reflected, alone in his guest room in the White City, that Aragorn's been dying since he was born. It wasn't supposed to be such a bloody surprise._

That pain is what it will feel like too_, he thought achingly, _When you sleep in death and I say goodbye. It matters not if we stand in the middle of a field of battle, or in the midst of your castle in peace. I will loose you to death.

I do not envy Arwen that you chose her_, he thought experimentally. But then of course, that was a lie. He knew it the moment he conceived of the idea. The truth was that he envied Arwen, even right down to that she would hurt fiercely when Aragorn dies._

_He and Aragorn… they've not spoken privately since that last Rohan sunset an eternity ago. They've not had the time, perhaps, that was the easy answer. But there's been little inclination to make time too. No one wanted to say goodbye, and there was little doubting that any conversation between them now, would have to have such a farewell._

I should seek you out_, Legolas thought half-heartedly, once again catching himself at another lie. _

_He sat on the railing of the balcony of his room, legs dangling quite cavalierly over the considerable height of the living quarters from the grounds below. His fingers drummed against the surface of the balustrade._

_He turned his head toward the door, at the sound of quiet footsteps coming to a stop just outisde his door. He knew they were Aragorn's steps, heavy boots unnaturally quiet under the gait of an elf-raised _adan_. The elf did not meet him halfway, nor opened the door wide in his excitement. He waited expectantly, half-wishing the man would just turn and walk away._

_But it wasn't to be. As a matter of fact, the hard-headed _adan_ did not even bother to knock. He just stepped into the room, treating it as the property that was his entailment, being the King of Gondor._

_Legolas rolled his eyes and shook his head at the man's audacity. He stayed where he was, looking out over the horizon. It was late at night, the moon was high in the sky and after the fall of an evil such as Sauron's, the stars shone brighter than ever._

_"How are Sam and Frodo faring?" the elf murmured to his healer friend. When he last visited the two hobbits, they were still unconscious and grievously hurt._

_"Sam woke, briefly," replied Aragoron, "They will both recover, in due time."_

_"That is very good to hear," Legolas said with a wistful smile, "How steep is the price they paid to bring us all to victory. They gave up flesh, and blood, and sweat, and most prized of all, their innocence." The elven prince turned to face the _adan_, and planted his feet firmly on the ground to stand before him. "But you did not come here to speak to me of them, of course."_

_"Of course," Aragorn admitted._

_"I know what you're about to say," the elf said, averting his eyes and pretending to be studying his fingers, "So you needn't say it. I've known for a long time. And you know I know-"_

_"Shush," Aragorn told him gently, "You're going to drive us both insane."_

_Legolas did fall silent, as he was bid. But he fell silent mostly because it was certainly easier than speaking._

_"These things do need saying," Aragorn told him gently, earnestly, "Because… because-"_

_"This thing between us needs an ending," Legolas finished for him, stonily, in carefully restricted anger. Not at Aragorn, of course, but anger in general, particularly toward the fates._

_Aragorn said nothing for the longest time, simply staring at the elf, who remained beautiful even in the half-dark, even when he was wounded._

_"This thing between us needs an ending," Aragorn echoed, softly, agreeing. _

_"I knew this would happen," Legolas said to the _adan_, "When you heard she was dying. The only way to save her was to be the King, and to be it wholly, and completely. This means, one took up the sword, walked the path, and asked for the allegiance of the cursed. But it was a decision not meant only for the time it was most needed; the decision had to be pure, and true, and binding, else it would not have given you the power to summon the dead or stand up to them. When you took up the sword, I did not expect you to save her life and then return to me. When you took up the sword, you became the King. And the King serves to his death. There was no longer any room for me because a King cannot serve with me beside him. I knew it, and I understood it then."_

_"I know you did," said Aragorn softly, "I saw your eyes…"_

_"So," breathed the elf after a long, quiet moment, "She gets to keep you. And I've redeemed my word to her after all."_

_"Your word…?" asked Aragorn, confused._

_"I promised her I'd get you back," the elf replied, "And I promised Lilian I'd return to her. We all get to keep our promises after all." He laughed, humorlessly, "Good thing we made no real and binding promises to each other."_

_"There had been a promise-" argued Aragorn._

_"None was expressly said," Legolas told him cautiously, "The only things expressly said was the future was uncertain, but in the short while we had each other. We've abided quite well by these. And please, my friend. Do not change it now, now that we know for a certainty that this is not going anywhere. Don't go there. Do not say things you'd ultimately regret."_

_"Is that your philosophy?" asked the _adan_ edgily, "Is that why you say so little of us, why you've said so little before--"_

_"Must we fight?" snapped Legolas, "This is over. It has been finishing since it began."_

_Aragorn took a deep breath, and shook his head in dismay with himself. "I'm sorry. I just… it disappoints me that the things that tear us apart are stronger than the things that draw us together."_

_Legolas stared at him for a long while. The King's posture was changed this night. The stance he'd been adopting these last few days – proud and sure- was quite miserably suspended in favor of shoulders stooped and face lowered, humbled was he so much by the fates. He had no power over his love, just as he had no power over his destiny. Ironic, or perhaps strangely fitting, that the most powerful man on the face of the Earth still had to bow before, well, himself: his heart, the demands of his life, and his ultimate death._

_"We must say goodbye," Legolas said softly, "And it is with the entirety of my heart that I wish you and your queen all the success and happiness of the ages." He laughed uneasily, swiping away at a tear that escaped his restraint, "I do not at present look it. But I do wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish."_

_"And it is, too," said Aragorn, "With the entirety of mine that I wish the same for you and…" he couldn't even say his rival's name, "I wish the same for you and your bride."_

_"I've said my piece," Legolas said to him, knowingly and deliberately echoing the older conversation from when they professed their love, "I want to do this. We must be apart by the fates. And those who own our promises deserve our returns, besides. I want to do this. But you have to know you wanted to do this too. You shouldn't have the luxury of one day standing in the future and looking over this as the past and thinking I've left you."_

_It was poignant, and painful, to think that words that once brought them together was now to break them apart. Elessar's eyes clouded with the familiarity of those words. Dear gods… the past was a hurtful ghost…_

_"You shouldn't have the luxury of hating me," Aragorn finished for the elf, "I know how it goes."_

_"I'd hate it," said Legolas, his voice quaking, "If I ever woke to a day when you hated me."_

_The _adan_'s eyes watered, and he shook his head solemnly, though he could not quite find the words to say that such a thing will never ever happen._

_Aragorn nodded. "What would you have me do, Legolas?"_

_"We must never speak of this again," Legolas said with a nervous laugh, "It pains," he finished simply. And then ever so indulgently, as if he feared to take any moment for granted, he upturned his palm, and gallantly offered his hand to the man, to shake on their agreement._

The past is a hurtful ghost…

_Aragorn took a deep breath and stepped forward. His step closed the distance between them, just as his fingers filled in the gaps between the elf's fingers, just as they bridged the certainties of tonight and the doubts of tomorrow by ending their possibilities. Love such as theirs held no hopes of ending, after all. It was the most that could be done._

_Aragorn squeezed the elf's hand as tightly as he could, and the elf returned his desperate grasp. And then, as if it was so simple, they just… let go._

* * *

_Some days later, after the crowning of the King, of noted was the absence of Legolas Greenleaf. Elessar, though his heart was greatly pained, let himself be enriched by the love and trust of the people who'd long awaited his heroic return. It had to do, because this was the path that he decided to take for the rest of his life._

_But as he trod the cleared paths to formally greet his people as their King, he was blocked by a welcome interruption. His lips curved to a smile at the sight of the elven prince, come to him at last in all his royal glory, resplendent in his indulgent tunic, head rightfully graced by his own crown. Legolas had long seemed the prince in stance and nobility. But Aragorn's never seen him in this form, as if he belonged amongst the gods, deliberately royal._

_'Thank you, Legolas,' was all the King could think to say. _Thank you that you stood with me when I needed you. Thank you that you are here. Thank you for standing apart when I needed that too

_The elven prince smiled at him, and in these eyes there was less of the wounds of parting. In these eyes rested, truly, the generosity of his loving._

It is with the entirety of my heart that I wish you and your queen all the success and happiness of the ages.

I wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish.

_Legolas tilted his head just so, for Aragorn to look past him, and look to his future. Behind the Mirkwood prince, as if she was his gift to give, was Arwen Undomiel._

_In some sense, Arwen was indeed his to give to Aragorn. It was not the other way around at all, the elf came to realize. Aragorn was not his to yield to Arwen, as if he had lost the man to her, as if he was robbed of something precious. _

_This was because to love was to give, and in giving up, he gave Aragorn his queen. He did not loose Aragorn, he will always have Aragorn's love, somehow. But he gave Aragorn something precious in giving way for Arwen- he gave Aragorn freedom to pursue joy without the burdens of the past. He gave Aragorn a future._

I wish for your joy together. I wish it with all of my heart, I wish it with all that I could wish.

_And then he left them._

_He left Minas Tirith with bittersweet joy; to love was to give, and he gave as much as he possibly could. He loved so much, that he could even give up his love. There were no regrets to be had here. _

_Besides, Lilian was hardly an ill place to return to; she gave him a different but also welcome brand of joy. The story of his heart did not end in leaving Minas Tirith; he still had a future with Lilian. _

_

* * *

_

_Eryn Lasgalen

* * *

_

_The Prince returned to a home still recuperating from the ravages of a war that's been fought for ages. Thranduil's hall was no less grand than it had been in his latest recollections, but his people were scurrying about to put things in their proper order, such that there was still a general air of post-war chaos._

_He entered the hall, escorted by Mikael, one of his father's oldest and most trusted soldiers. The elf was still in tainted warrior's garb and armor. Mikael's been with the family even before Legolas was born. He was usually endearingly brusque and straightforward, but his silence in this encounter of theirs was strange. He seemed a bit wary of Legolas. Worried, as well. The elven prince attributed it to weariness over the war._

_'You need not take me further Mikael,' Legolas said to the older elf, 'I know my way, and I need no announcing to my own father. I know there are things you'd much rather do.'_

_'No, dear child,' replied Mikael, 'This is precisely where I must be. I am pleased you returned to us in good condition.'_

_'I should hope so,' Legolas smirked at him, as they entered the King's hall. Thranduil rose from his throne at the barest sight of his returning son. His handsome face broke into a weary but heartfelt smile, and he dismissed his advisers urgently with a wave of his hand as he strode forward to meet his son. All but Mikael left the room._

_Legolas smiled indulgently at his father, favoring the King with a solemn, formal bow, from which the mighty elven King pulled him up roughly and embraced him instead._

_The elven prince let loose a surprised but delighted laugh. How long was this road! And now it ended with him in his father's arms, and soon, the arms of the woman whom he chose to return to._

Leaving you had been painful_, Legolas thought up to Aragorn_, But it was sorely necessarily. And almost as if in reminder that we had been right to do so, as if in a reward from the gods and the fates, I am here, in my father's arms. And soon in the arms of Lilian. There is sadness, yes. But there is considerable joy too. I find I cannot regret.

_'My son,' Thranduil said, pulling away from Legolas and gripping the prince's face in his hands. Legolas noticed that in his father's face, there was also a mixture of sadness and joy. _

_"__Ada__…?" he inquired of the King's liquid eyes._

_'My son,' said Thranduil, his voice shaking, 'Lilian…'_

_The elven prince's brows furrowed. But his heart knew his father's tone. His body shook rebelliously, and his father's hands drifted from his face to his shoulders, where his grip was tight and unyielding._

_"No…" Legolas breathed, "No, __Ada__…"_

You lie_…_

_'I am sorry,' his father told him fervently, 'I am so sorry.'_

_The Prince broke viciously from his father's grip. He stepped away, as if he was burnt. He stared at his father accusingly. _

_"You lie."_

* * *

_He was on his knees before her grave._

_Lilian smelled like the flowers she was named for, and he wondered if it was something she was born as and thereafter named for, or perhaps she held her own cunning and scented herself after her name, reminding him along all levels of memory of herself, that he may never forget, that he would always remember._

Some of them even grew on her grave…

_He was a soldier, much in demand, and saw her seldom. But he walked the forests and her scent was there and then he'd smile for in a way, she was too. Lilian's scent breezed by over the blood, lined the impossible length of his road. Her memory strengthened him, visions of her warmed him. She laid claim to his past, comforted the impossibilities of his present, and promised him a future._

_And then he returned home and she was dead. _

I've already paid so much and lost so much to return to you. Why are you dead?

_And then the guilt comes. _

I should have been here to protect you.

But then I was also happy where I was…

_And then a new brand of guilt._

I shouldn't have been happy being anywhere that you were not.

I shouldn't have wanted anyone else but you.

I shouldn't have thought that I could live without you.

_And then the anger comes_.

But I did not wish for your death.

I returned in the end. Is this a sick joke of the gods?

_And then a new brand of anger comes too_.

I lost Aragorn to be here with you. And now, they've taken you too. I have nothing in the end. Not him, and not you.

_And then, unfortunately for those who caught his wrath, a certain kind of productivity was channeling all of his guilt and rage into concrete action._

But I cannot touch the gods.

_He scoffed at himself. Being a heathen was out of the question. It wasn't nearly scathing enough. Besides, the gods simply made all the creatures of the world and then generally let them do as they wished. That's why people killed each other. That's why they all destroyed each other, no help from the gods necessary at all._

_Maybe… maybe he ought to look to elsewhere for rightful blame._

Damn those Easterlings instead.

Cursed are they, who took his choice from him. Who took his freedom from him. Who made a mockery of his decisions when he left Aragorn to come to Lilian, only to find they took her.

Damn them to the very ends of the Earth.

To be continued…

* * *

all right, so we know from the previous chapter that legolas' help is sorely needed. and then in this interlude, we also have an idea of his anger and hate. will he find it in himself to ride out to the east and help them? of course, haha. so wait out for that one in the next few posts. i'm almost done with this story, i think, and i hope you won't be disappointed. 'TIL THE NEXT POST!


	28. Positioning

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

**

* * *

PART FOUR: ****Endings**

Chapter Nineteen: Positioning

Eryn Lasgalen

_

* * *

I believe I've erred against you hideously, my love. _

The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen was once again on his knees before the grave of the elf Lilian, the woman he once loved, she who once owned the promises of his heart. The last time he knelt here, he vowed to avenge her, and that had been some years ago.

"I've spoken with my father," he told her softly, laughing at himself a little in nervousness and discomfort. "I am… I am to marry another, you see."

He fell silent, as if expecting a response from her, as he remembered his beloved father's wise words.

_You came home to us after the war and you were much changed. And then I told you Lilian was dead, and you tore across these lands in anger- far more anger than there was grief, far more hatred than there was loss. You were different, and your love was different. And you hated yourself because she was dead. Because you hadn't been here to save her or be with her. But more because you didn't want to be. You were elsewhere, and you did not regret being there. A father knows. You were different, and your love was different, and you wanted little to do with any of us who knew you for what you once were. You fought, you toured, you left, you built a kingdom elsewhere. A father knows…_

"He made me see some things," Legolas continued, "Some things I may have blinded myself to."

It was silly, he kept thinking, to speak to the dead, for one. To expect them to answer, secondly. And silliest of all that he was shy, wary of his words, weighing them carefully, as if those who were dead could listen and care about… about something as trivial as appropriate phrasing.

"I've been bearing your name in vengeance all these years," he said to Lilian, "When in truth I was bearing my own. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for misusing your name, tainting it by the disgrace of my actions. I was doing it all for myself, after all. I was angry for all that I lost, rather than grieving for the losses themselves. I had no right to use your name. Remember…" he chuckled at himself sadly, "Remember the last time I was here? I was so steeped in myself that I did not even speak to you. I was speaking only to myself. How could you have loved one like me, hm…?

"I cannot imagine it," he murmured, raising his hand to- for the very first time, he realized- touch the stone that marked where she was laid to rest. His digits shook, but they found their way to trace the marks of her name.

"I am to marry at last," he told her softly, closing his eyes, imagining her face was the surface that graced his fingers, rather than cold, still stone.

"Not to Aragorn, of course," he continued, "You know him. You must have read my mind. And I know now that you must have loved me enough to want me to be happy. But no, not to him. I get to wed an Easterling."

He sighed. "I know. They killed you. But war is war. I've killed many of them too. I've killed their fathers, sons, brothers. Lovers, even. War is war. There is no greater foe than war itself, I suppose. And I find, suddenly, that I'm in an honored position to end it.

"I know you won't mind," he said softly, "I know you won't mind."

He opened his eyes, and for a breathless moment he saw her eyes and her smile linger, as if she really was sitting before him. He smiled too.

"I find suddenly," he went on, "That I am in a position to save this land. And… and to make up for my errs. I believe I have a chance to save my soul, too."

He let his hand fall to his sides, and looked up to nearing footsteps. Lilian's grave was at the royal site, not far from the palace he called his home, not far from where his mother rested. It was secluded, and quiet, especially in the heart of the night. The only ones who were ever here was himself or his father, and the footsteps he heard most certainly did not belong to the King. His senses did not betray him, of course, and indeed he looked up to find, not Thranduil, but the faithful Mikael.

"My lord," said the old soldier, handing Legolas a parchment of paper, "An Eastern party bid me give you this. They are in the hall, in an audience with your father."

* * *

_Mellon-nin_, 

_Estel__ sent me on a mission to the East, to retrieve your bride Nadina and bring her to Gondor for your nuptials. But alas, I should have predicted this outcome, for I cannot remember the last uneventful trip I've taken under Estel's bidding. _

_Not all is well in the East; the West is not its only foe, there is also dirty politics from within. A decade or so ago, a Sang-age captain and his regiment went missing. This captain's name is Morgetti. Now, Morgetti and his men, fortified by bandits and mercenaries he gathered, seeks to attack the Sang-age and other defenseless Eastern lands and claim these lands as his own. The lands are populated by women and children and a few aging soldiers; they've dispatched their best warriors against the West after all. They are defenseless. Morgetti is ruthless. We are expecting a massacre._

_I am at Dolores- Danielli's land- with your wife-to-be. She refuses to leave her people behind. She also sent many of Dolores's soldiers to the Sang-agen, where she expects Morgetti to strike first. She, however, sent her son to you. His name is Dorjan. He is intelligent and inquisitive… a lot like Estel when he was younger and posed less of a problem, heh._

_So what do I ask of thee? Well, to look after the boy, of course. To apprise Aragorn and our other allies of the Eastern situation as well- we could not afford to loose any more soldiers as a multitude of messengers. I know you can spare some of yours._

_Also.__ Hm. How do I go about this. We found out about Morgetti when we stumbled upon his camp. Enclosed is a map and some directions, but well, any of the Easterlings I've sent you with this letter can guide you there. There was a fight. Nadina and I escaped, but they have Gimli and Haldir and a few others. They said they wanted ransom, but we're unsure. It could've been a ruse, to have us lay down our arms, make more cooperative victims when they decided to kill us because we found out where they were. Or perhaps… perhaps they really did want ransom, to fund their campaign. There were, after all, many mercenaries and bandits in their fold. Either way, I have great hope that our friends remain alive and relatively well._

_In short, dear Prince, I need soldiers, if you can spare them. Your Easterling prisoners of war at the very least, to return here and help defend their homes. Or perhaps even, if you can find it in yourself, some of your own men. As for our hostage-friends… I have less of an idea what to do for them, but I'm sure if you spoke with Aragorn-madman over there, he'll come up with something._

_Hannon-le.__ And the gods bless your path, my friend._

_- Elrohir_

* * *

The child was understandably nervous. 

Dorjan of Dolores had never stood in a room of full of elves, and some of the highest born ones too. The King and the Prince - Father and son- looked a lot alike, the boy thought. They were even glancing at him in the same careful way.

Prince Legolas, who was introduced to him moments ago, gave him a low, formal bow. The Eastern prince gulped and did the same. He stared at Legolas unabashedly, such that the elf quirked an inquiring eyebrow at him.

"You killed my father," Dorjan said carefully, "I heard about you, my lord. My mother, she does not say so expressly. But I have ears, and hers is not the only voice, where I come from."

Legolas held Dorjan's bold, accusing gaze for a long moment, before he glanced at his father the King. The Prince discreetly nodded at Thranduil, as if to motion him away. The King coolly exited the hall, bringing his entourage with him. The Easterling escorts of Dorjan held their ground, however, until their young prince bid them do the same.

Legolas thus mused that in the East, as in many warrior tribes the world over, boys grew up only too quickly. Their eyes were aged and wiser. These eyes in particular, may have seen too much.

The elf fell to a knee before the child, so that their gazes met squarely. "So I have," he said with narrowed, thoughtful eyes, "What do you want from me?"

Dorjan seemed caught off-guard by the question. But he was still of the Royal House, and he was every bit Danielli's son. There was quite a bit of spirit and nobility to him yet, enough to stand the ages-old elvish gaze.

"An apology?" asked Legolas, "Revenge?"

"I want nothing," Dorjan answered warily, after a long pause, "But it needed saying, my lord. You must know that I know, and yet I am here. My mother, she trusts you. She said Lord Elrohir said it's all right."

"Oh did he say so?" murmured Legolas.

"Was he wrong?" Dorjan asked boldly.

"Not most of the time," Legolas said, wistfully. He rose to his feet. Danielli's son was indeed as intelligent and inquisitive as claimed by Elrohir. But he had spirit too, and honor. Interesting indeed. He wondered how a marauding beast like Danielli could have fathered someone like this. Then again, from the perspective of the Easterlings, he was sure to be regarded as a murderous animal himself.

"Are you sorry?" Dorjan asked him, suddenly. They both knew he was referring to the death of the boy's father.

Legolas was the one caught defenseless now. He gave the question an honest moment of thought. "Not at the time," he answered, wincing, "But yes. Ultimately."

The boy bit at his lips, and his brows furrowed. But he nodded, accepting the answer as fair and honest. "All right." He took a deep breath, as if to brace himself for another question.

"Anything else?" Legolas asked him, encouraging.

"My mother…" hesitated Dorjan, "She did not take the journey with me, and everyone is nervous."

"Your lands are very dangerous at the moment," the elf explained, "You are safe here."

"Will she die too?" Dorjan asked.

"Not if I can help it," Legolas answered quickly, as if it was so easy. He seemed to have surprised the both of them.

_I find suddenly, that I am in a position to save this land. And… and to make up for my errs. I believe I have a chance to save my soul, too…_

* * *

The Gondor Front

* * *

A white flag, a tent, and the rulers of a long-contested land. 

The table was low, such that all the kings present sat on the silk and carpet-laden floors of the Gondorian tent. The table was round, a specification of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, a subtle but effective hint of the promises of an equal voice.

The Southeastern tribal kings looked resplendent in their best formal court silks mixed in with their gleaming warrior's effects. Their sun-weathered, exotically handsome features were unmasked, freed of their cloaks here in the shade.

Nathaniel was the oldest of them; many of these Eastern kings after all, were married to one of his multitude of daughters. Nathaniel served as the interpreter of the negotiations- it was only he, in the length of his long, warring life, who may have seen this moment. His grasp of both languages was astute.

The eleven tribe leaders read through the treaty and its conditions, periodically asked questions. It seemed to Aragorn that they kept glancing at the Sang-age king, observing him for signs of distress and mistreatment, perhaps. Nathaniel was looking extremely well, proud of his actions and also hopeful of peace. He seemed a fantastic example of the best face of the treaty.

Aragorn let them take their time- this was serious business that must not be hurried. Every word counted, when the effect had a bearing on a land's history, the lives of its people. Eomer beside him was watching the Eastern kings with less calm, but just as much silence. Elladan was with them as well, having come from Imladris to take part in the historic talks, as well as to represent his considerable kin.

It was at a distinct moment of thoughtful silence that one of the royal guards manning the tent- ordered not to disturb upon pain of significant punishment- burst into the room, seeking the eyes of his slightly irate King.

The soldier knelt beside Elessar and whispered hastily in his ear. The quiet of the tent was so great that his urgent murmurs seemed to engulf them all.

Elessar's eyes narrowed in thought, upon hearing the news. He dismissed the soldier with a wave of his hand, before turning to Nathaniel. "My lord. We must postpone these negotiations. We have a situation that demands immediate attention."

Nathaniel was not at all pleased about that, and not at all shy to speak his mind, especially when their Eastern would-be allies could not understand a word of his Westron. "Do you value my counsel, Elessar?" he asked Aragorn sternly.

"You know so," the man replied.

"Our Eastern allies have been looking at me, wanting to find something wrong, seeking a reason to distrust you," said Nathaniel plainly, "Think on this urgent matter quickly, and weigh it with caution. They look to us now, wondering what it is we are speaking of, why your soldier disturbed us. Why, why? Does it have anything to do with them? Is it a trap, is it a trick…? Think on this carefully. Is this nothing you cannot speak of in front them?"

Aragorn chewed at the inside of his mouth. "It concerns the Sang-age more than it concerns me," he said at last, "It might be more your decision to make."

"If this treaty is to be built up on trust," said Nathaniel, "Then I give leave for our allies to hear about it."

Sure enough, some kings had already turned to Nathaniel, asking in their own tongue what it was the commotion was all about. Nathaniel replied to them, and then everyone in the room turned to Aragorn expectantly.

"The wedding party," said Aragorn carefully, "The group that escorted Princess Nadina from the Sang-agen, they ran into a group of rebels, one known as the Lost Army of Morgetti."

Nathaniel missed a beat, hearing the name of his wayward adopted son. Apparently, the legend was known to the other Easterlings, such that they looked alarmed upon the saying of Morgetti's name, even before Nathaniel found it in himself to translate at last.

"The Princess Nadina escaped," continued Aragorn, and at this most important piece of news, Nathaniel was quicker to relay the message to his Eastern kinsmen, "along with one of the members of the envoy." This time, he looked at Elladan reassuringly. The Rivendell elf nodded, understanding that Aragorn was referring to the safety of Aragorn.

"They've taken refuge in Dolores," said Aragorn, "And made arrangements as to the protection of the Sang-age from the rebel army by sending some of the Doloresi soldiers there. As you well know, many Eastern soldiers are out fighting the west, away from their homes, out in the battle fields instead. Many of your lands are practically defenseless against any aggression from within."

The Easterlings murmured worriedly amongst themselves. Nathaniel told Aragorn that the others felt the danger the Sang-age was facing could be a danger to their kingdoms as well, since their palaces and main cities were indeed as defenseless as was logically claimed by Aragorn, given the situation of war.

"Nadina's son," said Aragorn, "Is safe in Eryn Lasgalen where his mother sent him to be with her future husband, Prince Legolas. Prince Legolas was also the one who sent his messengers here, that we may be apprised of the situation. He, along with his army, have also crossed to the East to lend their arms against Morgetti."

Nathaniel was once again stunned to hear this piece of news. He neglected his translation in favor of his urgent questions. "She sent my grandson to that murderer?"

Aragorn tossed him a warning glance. "Be wary of thy words, my lord. And your kinsmen await your rendition."

Gritting his teeth in irritation, Nathaniel nevertheless did as he was told, before turning to Aragorn once again. "I cannot believe he'd send his soldiers, much less go himself, to aid us."

"When he agreed to marry your daughter," Aragorn told him edgily, "He took with it all its responsibilities- the defense of her life, the defense of the land given him, the defense of those who are now- though he may or may not wish it – _his_ people. He will look after her, and Dolores. Just as he will look after the land and people of his wife's father's home. Because he's always kept his word. And also because these people are defenseless women and children he can aid. You've known him more for his anger, my lord, but I suggest you know him best for the rest of him. He is much loved for a reason."

Nathaniel stared at him for a long time, measuring the truth of his words. With set jaws, he turned to his Eastern allies emphatically.

"What of Masters Gimli and Haldir?" Eomer inquired of two of the partymembers who was best known to him, so often were they to be found about Rohan.

"The belief is that they've been captured and are held for ransom," replied Aragorn with a wince, "Perhaps even killed. But I prefer to hold onto the hopes of the former."

"What is your choice of action?" Elladan asked.

"I need to know more of precisely what Legolas is doing there," said Aragorn, "so I can see where we can apply our own forces--" his voice drifted, when he noticed that the Eastern Kings were one by one, hurriedly preparing their seals and signatures to sign the treaty. With wide eyes, he turned to Nathaniel questioningly.

"What you say of your friend had better be true, Elessar," the Sang-age King said to him, "I just told them that the bind of marriage had not even been sealed yet, and your elven Prince is already running to the East in defense of my lands, risking his own life. As I said. This is about trust, Elessar. If Legolas can find it in himself to bleed for us, and you fervently promise the same… perhaps we've been brothers all this while after all."

* * *

_Just like that_, though Aragorn, still quite shocked over what had just transpired. _Peace._

_Almost_, he corrected himself. Morgetti was still unfortunately making a rather expensive nuisance of himself. From what Nathaniel told him, the man had a fifty-soldier army at the very least, and suspected networks in bandits that could number in the hundreds, if he got all the Eastern brigands together. All in all, no greater than several hundred rebels, and most of them mercenaries who did not believe in Morgetti's cause, just eagerly awaiting a pay-off.

This meant that Morgetti's defeat in terms of military terms was a certainty. On a battlefield, he and his forces will be slaughtered. But if he laid claim to the towns, the palaces, and all of its people… a massacre could be at hand too. Everything now was no longer a question of strength, but of positioning, and timing.

Now that Morgetti knows he's been discovered, he'd have to lay siege to the towns quickly, because they were his sole ace in the deck. Without them, he had no hope of success, no ransom, no high ground to bargain from. He must know he can never win a straight-out war. But if Legolas beat Morgetti to the land of the Sang-age and fortified the kingdom, therefore keeping the rebel army out in the desserts, the battle could be simple and quick in favor of the West and its newfound allies.

The peace talks gave way ironically to more talk of war, except this time, the East and the West were allies toward staving the rebel threat. Legolas' chief envoy was ushered into the tent, and unsurprisingly it was Mikael. He laid out a map of Arda before the room of rulers.

In a red marking, the elf drew a straight line that began from the Sang-age capital and ran west toward Rohan. "This," said Mikael, "Was the road home of the traveling party after fetching Princess Nadina."

In a quiet murmur, Nathaniel translated to their new allies, as Mikael continued, "But at a watering stop here," he placed a black dot somewhere along the red line, at the outskirts of the Sang-age dessert, nearer to the West than to the Eastern kingdom's capital, "the party was attacked."

He changed his ink to blue, and began with the black dot and drew a straight line north to Dolores, where he placed another dot. "Princess Nadina and Lord Elrohir escaped, and traveled north to the land of the late King Danielli, where Nadina was his queen. She dispatched some Doloresi soldiers to the defense of the Sang-age, where she suspected Morgetti was going to attack. They also dispatched messengers to Eryn Lasgalen, to apprise Prince Legolas of the situation."

Shifting to a very appropriate, light green ink, he drew a straight line from Thranduil's court in Eryn Lasgalen east to Dolores. "My prince sent his soldiers to Danielli's land to ensure that it can withstand any potential attacks from Morgetti. Though the most danger is to the Sang-age, the protection of this land is just as vital to him."

And then in a more royal olive green, he drew a straight line from Thranduil's court in Eryn Lasgalen southeast to the Sang-age, traveling right over the dot that marked the sandstone mountains where the first encounter with Morgetti was made.

"The prince and a larger contingent," continued Mikael, "Rode to the Sang-age capital for its defense with the country's best riders. They were hoping to beat Morgetti's forces to the capital with elf-raised horses, and a ceaseless ride pressed on by elvish stamina. We surmised that some of Morgetti's band may not have horses, may travel with camels instead, perhaps even _mumakils_. They will have considerable might, but not as much speed.

"The Prince bid me tell you," said Mikael, "that he will send word should he change his strategy after a better look at what he has to work with. He said he is also amenable to any changes you may wish to make. He also said that the hostage situation is more of a mystery to him. They've not even heard of any demands yet."

Aragorn stared at the map. Legolas left him little to do really, except deal with the rescue of Gimli and the others.

"My lord," said Aragorn to Nathaniel, "What are the odds that Morgetti will keep our friends here," he pointed to the black dot marking the sandstone mountains, "where they were captured?"

"Slim to none," replied Nathaniel with certainty, "they are lacking in men, Elessar. I'm sure they could not have spared the manpower to attack my lands and maintain a prison. Either they've already been killed, or they were brought along for the assault, kept in the traveling camp."

One of the Eastern Kings beside Nathaniel murmured something to him, and Nathaniel shook his hand gratefully, before turning to Aragorn.

"Our allies have offered to retreat their forces immediately," said Nathaniel, "that they may look to the protection of their own territories in case of attack, and that they may send some of their men to my people as well."

"Tell them to leave their wounded and save time," Aragorn said, "They will be cared for, as our own soldiers are cared for. I will send some of my army as well. We can all ride together."

_Just keep our foes in line, Legolas_, he thought fervently, _We__ have our peace now. We have our peace at last. All we've bled for, all we've given up for. It is so near. We just have to take care of this one last thing, and then we, and all this world, should have the rest of our lives to look forward to._

To be continued…

* * *

HEY GUYS!

guess what? as of yesterday, this fic has actually already been completed, haha. i'm still tentative though about the ending. we'll see... i usually have a basic piece of work, and then i look to reviews to get a feel of what might be missing, what i could add. for those who've read my stories from long before, my style was to post, post, post. i couldn't wait to post, if it was finished already, the whole thing goes up. but formy later works, i was advised to pace my posts, because not onloy do i get more reviews and more people get to read if it is kept updated, it actually makes the story better because i get to improve on the latter parts as i hear feedback. so, point being, haha, review if you can guys, c&c's are always welcome, and already i'm very very very THANKFUL for all your support. i'm in a bit of a rush right now, but that's your update, and i'll definitely be addressing your concerns and questions soon. THANKS SO MUCH AGAIN and 'til the next post:)


	29. Learn to Love

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

Danesh: a Doloresi captain

Hector: a Sang-age captain

**

* * *

****PART FOUR: Endings**

Chapter Twenty: Learn to Love

Dolores,

The Northeast

* * *

The Rivendell elf was on his feet, making the lady who attended him frown in irritation. Yes, she heard that race was made strong. But risking one's health for one's impatience and pride, this ability of some men to set aside their health in favor of their vanity, was annoying her to the very pits of her stomach. Having grown up amongst warriors, and having married one of the greatest and most stubborn of them, Nadina was not unused to the quality. But it was no less of a nuisance.

Elrohir was standing before the window of his room, looking out over the dessert. Danielli's Doloresi citadel shared the architecture of Nathaniel's: a domed palace standing mightily over an incline, surrounded by the domed homes of his people. He heard Nadina's distinct footsteps, and tightened his borrowed sleeping robes over his bandaged chest before turning around to face her.

Her lips quirked, as if she was wrestling with teasing him about the misplaced modesty. He caught her look, and lifted an eyebrow at her, wordlessly acknowledging the barb that had never been, daring her to try his cleverness.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," she told him instead.

"There are things that need doing," Elrohir said.

"There always is," she commented mildly, "You must simply put recuperation as an item on your list, my lord. Make time for it."

"I need not," Elrohir said, "We heal much quicker than men do."

She stared at him for a long moment, before accepting his answer with a shrug. She walked to stand beside him, looking out over the dessert as well. "I wonder how my son is faring in Eryn Lasgalen."

"A tricky question," murmured Elrohir, "He must be encountering his step-grandfather by now. The King Thranduil, you must have heard of him. Even _I_ am afraid of him."

"He is unkind?" she asked, brows raised, almost accusingly, asking him with a look if he just got her to throw her young son out to the wolves.

"Oh no," replied Elrohir quickly, "He's just… well, stern, you know. But he was never lacking in caring. I've seen Legolas court a smile from him with ease. Then again, no one else has that effect on Thranduil but his beloved son."

"It is strange," Nadina murmured, "So strange to think on old enemies in terms of their fathers, their smiles…" she shook her head in dismay, "After all the blood, only to find there are more things we share than there are things that separate us."

"As long as we've finally realized this," he said wistfully, "It is never too late for me."

Nadina smiled at him thoughtfully, before staring out at her dessert once more. He watched her intriguing face, where so many emotions were lodged. They colored her stunning blue eyes.

"Legolas will send his army, you told me," Nadina said.

"Yes," he replied, "I am quite certain."

"Why?" she asked.

"I've known him a long time," Elrohir assured her, "He's known his share of pains, he wishes to impart none of it to the innocent. You will not find a better elf to be with. He will suit you better than anyone else."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Will he?"

He met her turbulent, questioning gaze. It was easy enough to deduce what it was she meant. He decided to soften the topic by smirking out what had actually been an honest answer.

"Well there is still me, of course," he said with a deceptive chuckle, "But some would beg to disagree."

Her eyes clouded, but she smiled back at him. It was as if she was in approval of both his honest answer and the clever diversion that made the circumstances more bearable.

"Ahh," the Rivendell elf breathed, his finer senses sighting the approach of the Eryn Lasgalen colors. "Here comes the cavalry."

Her hands shot up to her hair, matting it down carefully, self-consciously. She was expecting to meet her husband-to-be for the first time after all.

"Relax," he told her wryly, "I've seen you look like the beauty of the world even in dust and grime, Nadina."

* * *

It was with some relief and some disappointment that they discovered Legolas was not with the elven army that crossed into the lands of the Doloresi.

Nevertheless, they brought the promised relief. Fifty elven soldiers on horseback with their impassive faces and gleaming armor, was dispelling all the fears of the small dessert country. Aside from the considerable elven force, they brought with them all the Doloresi prisoners of war they captured and cared for during the war, setting them free to their homes and families and to help in the defense of their own kingdom.

"My lord," one of the royal guards bowed to Elrohir. The Rivendell elf recognized the soldier as one of Mirkwood's highest ranking ones.

"General," Elrohir answered, bowing as well.

"Princess Nadina," the Mirkwood elf bowed even lower before his Prince's future wife. She returned the formality gracefully.

"We are very grateful that you've come to us in this our trying hour," she told him sincerely.

"I regret that the Prince Legolas is not with us," said the elven General, "But he bid me bring to you all the assistance you could possibly need."

"I was told he would," Nadina said softly, glancing at Elrohir.

"The Prince is leading the campaign for the Sang-age," said the soldier, "Two regiments left Eryn Lasgalen some days ago. We rode with all speed toward here, and the other rode toward the more pressing situation in Nathaniel's land. Though the Prince would have been honored to meet you at last, he felt his expertise would be more of use there, where the enemy is likely to strike."

"Typical," muttered Elrohir.

The General glanced at the younger elf with a measure of disapproval, but also with some amusement. Having known Legolas since he was a princeling, it was not a sentiment he didn't share.

"With your permission," said the soldier to Nadina, "I want to survey your defenses to lend my aid, and find positions for our own soldiers in case of an attack."

"Of course," she told him with a smile, "You have my leave to do whatever you feel is necessary. I am hoping all our precautions will not be needed in that Morgetti wouldn't attack, but it always pays to be careful."

With a bow, the elf left them to do his work. Nadina looked after him as he walked away with his wide, domineering strides.

"Prince Legolas sent us the very best," she said softly, surprised by the generosity of her future husband. She wondered if she could ever learn to love him.

* * *

The Land of the Sang-age

* * *

The Doloresi soldiers were told to expect the arrival of the elves, but thundering horse hooves from impeccable-looking, heavily armed soldiers always stirred the blood and gave rise to considerable fear. Especially since many of the older soldiers recognized the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen leading the charge, he whom they've long known only as a dreaded foe.

Legolas halted his horse before the limits of the Sang-agen city, and raised his hand to order his soldiers to do the same. His battle-ready horse was stomping excitedly, having ridden for days without rest and sensing the urgency of his master. Legolas soothed the beast by patting his flank, as he surveyed the city.

It was unfortunately not walled, and there were only humble, domed homes situated at its periphery marking where the city started. Soldiers stood every few paces along these homes, and Legolas noted with some dismay that they looked quite scant and certainly less than enough to defend the kingdom.

The elven prince stopped before the city's main entrance, a paved road that led deeper into the capital. There, a Doloresi captain and a seasoned, old Sang-agen one were standing side by side to meet him.

Legolas dismounted his horse and stood before them. The two soldiers bowed at the Prince, and he returned it quickly. There was more important business to attend to.

"My lord," the Sang-agen Captain greeted him, "My name is Hector, and this is Danesh of Dolores. We are in charge of the defense of the city. I'm sure you've noted that we are not in a very good situation."

"I agree," Legolas said, "I'm surprised to find your city is not walled. It's defense poses a greater problem than I thought it might."

"Walls are inconvenient to our lifestyle," Danesh explained, "A risk that needed to be made, I'm afraid."

Legolas looked about him, noted the homes and all of its inhabitants peering at him from their doors and windows. Straight ahead was a mighty dome he deduced must be Nathaniel's palace, bordered by low walls and situated at the top of an incline. His eyes narrowed in thought. Now _that_ is much easier to defend.

"I will speak plainly," said the elven prince.

"We were advised to trust your judgment," said Hector, "And know quite well from our experiences of battle against you that such advice is not without merit."

"Tell the people to leave their homes," said Legolas, "And move to the palace. We will concentrate our defenses there. In that palace, we will have walls and just as importantly, the high ground. Not to mention a smaller, more manageable area to protect."

Hector hesitated. "It's never been done before, my lord. But I see your wisdom. We will do as you order."

"I suggest you act on this right away," said Legolas, "We were lucky to beat Morgetti here, but my scouts told me they are not far behind. Go."

Hector nodded, and busied himself with his subordinates. The elven prince called upon his next-in-command to walk with him and Captain Danesh.

"The palace, being on top of the hill will give us the view," said Legolas, "We can have archers there at the walls, and though Morgetti could get into the city, I guarantee he cannot get up into the palace, since we can rain arrows down on them as they climb. But to inconvenience them further, around the incline I want ditches to be dug. Fill these with thorns and spikes, perhaps even bits of glass. Anything sharp that you can find. Hide them with a thin layer of sand."

Danesh's eyes lit with appreciation. The soldier in him was relishing the thought of sitting up at the high ground, seeing Morgetti's forces breaking into the city and heading straight for the palace. The palace, where archers will welcome them with bows and arrows, shooting down on them. Where any attempt they make to climb the hill could be derailed either by the hale of arrow-fire, or slipping and falling into the spiked ditches.

"We will leave the rest of the city unoccupied?" Danesh inquired.

"Archers up on the palace," said Legolas, "And some footsoldiers as well, in case by some miracle Morgetti manages to break through. But the best of the soldiers with close-contact combat must hide amid the houses around the city. When Morgetti's forces go straight for the palace and meet with the archers, the combatants in the houses can then close in from behind them in surprise, cut off their retreat. But ensure these soldiers know the risks of this particular job. Urban warfare gives our foes many places to hide, and many weapons to improvise with."

"Of course, my lord," said Danesh gravely.

"Make haste," Legolas ordered. Danesh nodded and scurried away to make the proper arrangements, as Legolas turned to his own people.

* * *

Morgetti's Camp

The Outskirts of the Sang-age Capital

* * *

_They won't kill him, they won't kill him_, was the mantra running inside the dwarf's tortured mind, as he watched the Easterling mercenaries drag the blonde elf away from them.

"These men are deserters and bandits," Adriano said to Gimli softly as he watched as well, "But they are not without kin or loved ones in the Eastern kingdoms. Legolas is well-known to them, and much disliked."

The Easterlings threw Haldir to the ground, spat near his head, to show their profound disgust with him. A band of the rebels formed a circle around him, but left some view for Gimli, Adriano, Jonah and Tadeo, as well as for their leader Morgetti, who was watching the proceedings with a warm, hungry eye and a bit of a smile.

Haldir's hands were tied behind his back, but he pushed himself up to his knees and glared at his tormentors defiantly. One of the bandits uttered something at him, just before backhanding him across the face, sending him to the ground once more. The bandit turned to Adriano, screamed at him and pointed to Haldir.

"What does he want?" Tadeo asked.

"He wants 'Legolas' to understand what he is saying," Adriano translated, shaking his head in amazement, "I understand the frustration of wanting vengeance, and feeling insignificant when all that has consumed you for years is not at all remembered by your foe. All of this man's brothers were killed in the war, and witnesses told him it was by the elf prince's hands."

"Of course they'd say that," growled Gimli, "they can't name and blame anyone else! He is the only recognizeable face of their nightmares." He wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted that he did not count as a nightmarish foe. He had, after all, been on practically all the battles the elf had ever faced!

Tha bandit barked at Adriano again, pointing at Haldir insistently. Adriano did as he was told, telling 'Legolas' that he killed all of the man's brothers.

"I'm going to kill you," Haldir said to Adriano under his breath, blood trailing down the corner of his mouth, "You told me Legolas' name will save my life, you forgot to tell me they will kill me first before they ransomed me off."

Adriano's lips quirked, appreciating the dry humor. There were, after all, a precious few things one could appreciate while watching a newfound friend in suffering.

Another Eastern rebel came forward and struck Haldir as well, with his own set of accusations. The Lothlorien elf bore all of these quite calmly, except that one instance when a bandit's spit managed to reach his face and the insult reflexively grated at his pride. His eyes narrowed in irritation, and his gaze was cold and clear despite the fact that his face was by now swelling and coloring with all the hits he had taken. Almost casually, he swung his legs at the spitting bandit and sent him stunned and sprawling to the ground.

The Easterling sputtered curses at him, and then the game got more heated and more violent. The ease by which the elf brought down one of them was ruffling the feathers of the others. Someone brought out more rope, and bound the elf's feet. And then someone brought out a spiked whip, making even Morgetti worried enough to order them specifically, to have their fun with the elven prince but to stop short of killing him.

Growling, the dwarf pushed forward when the first lash began to descend on Haldir. With his hands tied behind his back, and the injuries already acquired from the earlier battle, it was not long before he was subdued and held still, a blow to his head blurring his vision and giving the brutality before him a surrealistic look.

Adriano watched with his young, scarred eyes. He liked Haldir, enough that every strike to the elf's body made him wince in shared pain. He wondered how it would feel, if he was watching Legolas of Mirkwood instead. Would he feel some vindication? He was an Easterling too and had, after all, also once tried to kill the elven prince in all of his anger. Legolas had been cold, callous and insulting to him. The elf was an unapologetic murderer. It was the only Legolas Adriano knew. But then Adriano saw too, that the elf's friends adored him. Thus, he realized there always were two sides to a story, as the old adage goes. That in the elf prince's eyes, _they_ were the villain. Knowing all of this now, he guessed that maybe if he was watching the torture of Legolas instead of the torture of Haldir, he'd share in the prince's pain as well.

Adriano apprehended that somehow, along the length of this journey, he's learned that whoever was on the hurting side of a vengeful whip, he'd feel sorry for them- foe or friend. He was sick and tired of war, sick and tired of being angry.

_What did my old master say_, he thought back to Nicolo, that night his life was ended by the elven prince's angry blade, '_Let me teach you one final thing, dear prince. All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war. All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance…'_

Vengeance… It made everything seem unending. It made Legolas of Mirkwood kill. It made all those who loved his victims want to kill him back. It made Morgetti want to kill Nathaniel and reclaim the Sang-age. Where vengeance began no one could know. But everyone _had_ to know that this ridiculous ride could end with them.

_We are almost at peace_, he thought achingly, _I wish it for myself, just as I find I wish it for those I once knew only to be foes._

* * *

The Land of the Sang-age

* * *

Legolas stood beside Danesh and Hector at the palace walls. The three of them represented the ranking heads of three kingdoms- the Doloresi, the Sang-agen and the elves. They stared out over the distance at the dessert.

"They are coming," Legolas said softly, his elven eyes the first to see. But such an observation was not left solely to the eyes; the two men beside him were folk of the dessert, and they knew full well too that Morgetti was coming, because the air tasted different, the winds whipped at the sands in agitation.

"If Morgetti is smart," said Danesh, "he will know to withdraw and even to surrender. We may not match his numbers, but we do have the best position. He doesn't stand a chance."

"Have you prepared your terms, my lord?" asked Hector of Legolas, "As a starting point for negotiations. There will be talks of course, the very breath he sees that he'd have to deal with the lot of us."

"I want nothing short of them laying down their arms and rejoining the rest of the Kingdom," replied the elf, "the men can go free as they will, back to their homes, back to whatever it was they were doing before they were pressed into service in this rebellion. But Morgetti must stand trial for his crimes- desertion from the army, treason… it is up to Nathaniel, ultimately. In the short-run, I just want their arms laid down, and their cooperation until Nathaniel comes here. It is his kingdom, it is his business."

"That's more than fair," commented Hector, "Considering we can easily slay all of them from where we stand, strategically speaking."

The air was wavy with the heat, making everything from the near distance ironically seem as if one was looking at them from underwater. The horizon's dessert lines was suddenly broken by one shadow, and then another, and another, and the shadows and forms thickened into a column of riders and soldiers, and more columns behind them. The man at the head of the pack was riding a black horse, holding up a banner of faded colors, the colors of Morgetti's fallen royal House.

"I thought all those flags had been burnt," said Hector softly, "The child must have long thought of this moment, that he could raise it up again and claim his lands. But he is dreaming."

Legolas' eyes narrowed as he watched the approach of Morgetti and his army. He was confident of their ultimate victory, of course, he just didn't know how much it would cost. Coming from the desperate desires of his vengeance not too long ago, he knew full-well that there was very little logical arguing with one's broken heart. When one could finally answer, _What__ would it be like, to wake from sleeping and dreaming and instead live out all these desires? To live a dream?_ His heart once longed to kill those who wronged him, just as much as Morgetti desired to reclaim his lost kingdom.

_We are alike_, he thought toward the rebel leader bearing his House's colors proudly, _You__ and I, and all of us surrounding. We all pray for a better world, except we cannot seem to get around it. I let my anger consume me for too long. I wonder how far will yours take you…?_

Morgetti's army stopped some paces from the borders of the city.

"Ready my horse," Legolas murmured to his elven aide, "We will try and talk them out of this madness."

To be continued…

* * *

hey guys!

faster updates now, since i'm essentially done with the fic and i'm excited to get it all out and concentrate on my new project. i might even post a chapter a day, haha, depending on if i find the time and my mood. this was chapter twenty, and the fic is a very round-sounding 25 chapters long :)

keep the c&c's coming if you can, i don't always have the time to reply but i swear they're really, really helpful. thanks for taking the time to read and 'TIL THE NEXT POST!


	30. The End of the Fire

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

Danesh: a Doloresi captain

Hector: a Sang-age captain

**

* * *

PART FOUR: Endings**

Chapter Twenty-One: The End of the Fire

Dolores,

The Northeast

* * *

"It was just as we thought," Nadina said to Elrohir with relief, "Morgetti's forces will not be striking here. Our scouts have observed their movements deeper east, to my father's lands."

The Rivendell elf nodded at her, grimly. "That means," he breathed, "That means I should be somewhere else."

She raised a brow at him. "You're being ridiculous. By the time you get there, the elves would have already fortified the city, would keep you from entering just as they would keep the rebels away. Your late presence there could press them to give you an opening into their fortress that the rebels can use to go in as well. No, no. You stay here. You heal. You wait."

He chewed at his lips, thoughtful. She was right, of course. But he hated, _hated_ waiting. And besides, he knew for a certainty that upon getting word of these happenings in the East, Aragorn and surely, Elladan too, would be going to the Sang-agen from the South. Gimli and Haldir were already there, and so was Legolas.

_In short_, he berated himself wryly, _You're feeling left out_.

She watched his face, knowingly. He hated too, that she was quite clever and was unabashedly proud of it. He offered her a half-hearted scowl, which only made her eyes shine in good humor.

"That wasn't the desired effect," Elrohir told her wryly.

* * *

Morgetti's Camp,

Outside the City of the Sang-age

* * *

"Haha," exclaimed the dwarf excitedly, for the rebel army paused upon the scout's announcement and their collective realization that they've been beaten to the city by the elves.

The five hostages were traveling at the back of the pack, the weakened, hurting Haldir being carried between Jonah and Tadeo. Injured as he was, he of course couldn't readily share in Gimli's enthusiasm. Neither could young Adriano.

"You know what this means for the rest of us," said the Easterling wistfully, "The army protecting the land is predominantly made up of elves. Morgetti is thinking he can barter 'Legolas' for some concessions."

"And all he has is me," drawled Haldir, "Morgetti won't be very happy when he finds out. And he will find out, the very moment the elves refuse to buy me out."

"Why wouldn't they pay your ransom?" asked Tadeo.

"It's because he's irritating," growled Gimli, almost-cheerfully. His excitement apparently could not be dampened. "I see Mirkwood colors. Is Legolas there? He's one of the few elves who'd be willing to pay for you."

"And one of the few willing to pay for you," snapped Haldir.

"No one's going to pay for me," Jonah pointed out, sadly.

The group fell silent, when the rebels pressed them forward, pushing them toward the head of the column. Morgetti's army stood some dozen paces away from the edges of the city. From the front of the lines, they could see that the capital resembled a ghost town, emptied as the houses were. They could see that the raised palace was quite heavily defended, however, leading them to the logical conclusion that everyone must be there instead.

The five hostages were deposited before Morgetti, who grabbed Haldir by the collar and brought him to his knees, dragging him forward. At the top of his lungs, he screamed something in his native tongue, out toward the city. And then, he hastily motioned for Adriano to repeat what he said in Westron.

"To the elves," Adriano called out. The silence of the capital was unnerving, and the winds were carrying his voice out further than he ever thought it could go, "We have your prince!"

A long moment of silence followed the pronouncement, before it was broken by the muffled sounds of horse hooves hitting rock and sand, preceding the first sight of the _real_ Legolas of Mirkwood riding toward them. The elven prince rode between two Easterlings, one bearing the colors of the Sang-age and the other bearing the standard of Dolores. Legolas himself carried no flag that showed the banner of his Royal House, but instead bore a white one in peace. The colors of Eryn Lasgalen were borne by some elven soldiers who were flanking the three head riders.

They stopped at the edge of the city and dismounted their glorious steeds. Legolas gave the reins of his horse to one of the flanking elven soldiers. He, Danesh and Hector took their time, looking at their enemies and walking forward, stopping at the halfway point of the distance between Morgetti's army and the borders of the city.

"We have terms," Legolas said, and Adriano translated it to Morgetti. "It may benefit you to come forward and hear them."

Morgetti stared at the elf, his eyes narrowing in thought, before he motioned for one of his soldiers to drag Haldir and Adriano forward as he walked to meet the negotiating party.

'Who am I speaking with?' Morgetti said to Adriano, 'Tell him to introduce himself to me. I am the lord of these lands upon which he trespasses, what right does he think he has to summon me?'

Adriano gulped, and licked his lips nervously. He had to think fast. "My lord," he said to Legolas, knowing Morgetti wouldn't be able to understand him, "When we were captured, we told the rebels that Haldir was you, that they may keep him alive to ransom. Morgetti thinks he has a valuable Prince in their clutches, and is asking me who _you_ are."

Legolas glanced at the Lorien elf, injured and kneeling on the ground, the rebel holding him steady poising a knife threateningly at his tender neck. 'You're all right?' he asked his old friend in Elvish, 'I cannot believe you tore across these lands bearing my name with your antics.'

'On the contrary,' said Haldir wryly, 'It is carrying your name that's brought me unimaginable penalties, _mellon-nin_. I do not think my bearing it was detrimental at all.'

'What is he saying?' Morgetti growled at Adriano.

'He is merely greeting his prince, as is their custom, my lord,' Adriano lied quickly, before turning to Legolas, "Give Haldir a bow, quickly."

The Mirkwood elf's brow quirked, but he did as he was told, albeit a bit cavalierly. "Tell him… tell him I am Haldir, a Captain of the Royal Guard." To the smirking Haldir, he said in Elvish, 'Isn't that fitting? A swap.'

Adriano translated to Morgetti that Legolas was indeed Haldir, sent there to protect the land and to handle the ransom for the elven prince's life. Morgetti made his terms known at once, which Adriano offered up to Legolas with some dismay.

"He says the prince's life for your departure from the city," said Adriano, "he has no quarrel with you, he only wants what is rightfully his."

Legolas shook his head, "In the failure of him and his family to serve, he lost this land long ago. Its people do not want him to be their King. Tell him my terms are for him to surrender his arms, and in doing so come to no harm."

Legolas did not need to hear translations of course, to know that the answer was a mocking 'no.' Morgetti even laughed at the offer cruelly, and then spat on the ground in his disgust, scowling at Legolas as he spoke to Adriano in their native tongue.

"He says," relayed Adriano hurriedly, as if struggling to keep up to the fast, frustrated words of the former prince of the Sang-age, "He says your prince will die. He says your prince will die before your very eyes, and he will storm the city. It is his by birthright, it was stolen long ago. His father was killed, his mother was killed. It is his by right, and even more, it is his by what is just, by all that he's lost and paid for it. The land is his. You got here first, he says, but he is far hungrier. That means he will win."

Legolas looked at Morgetti. "I understand your anger," he told the rebel earnestly, "It is not unfamiliar to me. Your anger will kill your foes, but it will kill you too, in the end. Move toward the route of peace. You will live, and your men will live, and the people you wish to reclaim will live too. Is that not the best service?"

The rebel leader's face did not soften, nor did his tone lighten when he conveyed his reply to Adriano.

"He says," said Adriano, quietly, his young eyes boring into Legolas, "He says he is offended by your nerve. That you should have the stomach to say you can understand him. His ire is softened only by the possibility that you truly believe what you are saying. In that case you are not offensive, you are ridiculous. Silly to think that your words can stem this war he's waited so long to stage."

"You will die," Legolas implored Morgetti, "look to our posts, I find no joy or malice in this simple proclamation of fact. You do not stand a chance."

Morgetti narrowed his eyes in thought as Adriano told him what Legolas said. He chewed at the inside of his mouth, thinking, considering. He blinked, set his jaws as he looked toward the elusive Sang-age palace, as if asking himself, _what are you worth? Can I let you go…?_ But the answer was one he's known for too long. The land is everything, and if he turned away, he might as well be dead.

Legolas let him have the time he needed to think. Vengeance was dangerously irrational. It was insistent, and it gave no room for the logical. But perhaps Morgetti… perhaps the rebel leader can make these realizations sooner than he did.

Morgetti made a casual sort of wave at someone from behind him, and his soldiers brought forward Gimli, Jonah and Tadeo. Like Haldir, they were pushed to their knees. They looked a bit the worse for wear, but their eyes were alight. Of the five, only the dwarf and Adriano had their hands tied in front of them, for the other two had helped Haldir walk.

'Begin with that one,' Morgetti told the soldier holding Tadeo softly, and coolly. Such calm was so brutally misplaced in the dessert…

"No!" Adriano exclaimed, shooting forward toward Tadeo. But the blade that dug itself into the old Gondorian soldier's neck was far quicker, and it slid with such ease… how easy it was to end a life. His blood hit the sand, a breath before his body did, as it was released and kicked forward.

The hand-bound Adriano lunged angrily at the soldier who had done the foul deed. Adriano took the rebel soldier to the ground with the strength of his fury. They rolled in the sand as they struggled.

Things began spiraling out of control. The scent of blood and the sight of fury was wont to do such things to people. Haldir, Gimli and Jonah struggled against their own captors in equal rage over the death of the old Gondorian. Legolas watched, aghast, as the enemy's archers began to aim at his friends.

Morgetti's mad eyes were flashing with glee, but he held his ground as everything around him moved. He laughed, and screamed at the air in his mysterious tongue, screamed at no one in particular.

The elven riders bore empty horses toward the negotiating area in a rush to reclaim their allies and bring them back to the safety of the city, seeing that the talks had fallen apart at the seams. Morgetti's army began to run forward as well.

Danesh and Hector moved to assist Haldir, Gimli and Jonah. Legolas ran toward Adriano, and pushed the young Easterling away just as the first of the arrow shafts were released toward them.

Legolas could not hold back a cry of pain, as he was brutally struck by two shafts. His body jerked back, and then fell forward. He rolled on the sand with the momentum of the strike he'd taken, and for a long while he lay there unmoving, blinded and stunned by his pain.

Adriano barely felt the elf pushing him away to save his life. The rebel he attacked was on the ground, struggling to get his bearings. Adriano sighted one of Legolas' white knives thrown to the ground. He picked it up and stalked toward the disoriented rebel.

Gasping and coughing, Legolas pushed himself to his hands and knees, facing down at the sand and dizzily watching blood from his wounds taint the ground. He felt nauseated at the sight of the shafts in his body, and his arms shook as he took to the ground once more. Groaning, he shook his head vigorously in an effort to regain alertness. He noticed then that Adriano had scurried away from the his grip and lunged himself against the Easterling murderer again, this time having stolen one of Legolas' knives. The young man screamed as he hacked, and the rebel did not stand a chance.

"No more!" Adriano yelled at the corpse, stabbing in his anger, so consumed was he that he was oblivious to the arrows that rained around them, "We were so near! I've had enough of this!"

Legolas watched him with haunted eyes. "Adriano," he called shakily, "Stop, now. Let it end…"

The young aide gasped as he caught his breath midway through another strike. The rebel beneath him was already a bloodied, faceless corpse. He stumbled away from the body, and turned toward the grievously injured prince lying on his side on the sand.

_Let it end_, the elf implored him.

_What was I just thinking some days ago_, he thought, _Where vengeance began no one could know. But everyone has to know that this ridiculous ride could end with them._

_It can end with _me_…_

"I'm sorry," Adriano said, disoriented suddenly, looking at his bloodied knife and his bloodied hands and clothes. The elf coughed thickly, tearing him away from his realizations. The young Easterling noticed with some alarm that an arrow was embedded so deeply into the elf's stomach that he could only see the end of the shaft. Another pierced his chest at a downward angle.

Legolas' hands shook as he reached for one of the arrows, and Adriano waded the sand and ducked at the shots fired around them to fall to his knees next to the elven prince.

"My lord…" Adriano whispered, his eyes raking over the prince's pale, sweating face. Blood trickled down the side of the elf's chin. He grasped Legolas' hands to keep him from pulling the arrows out himself. "Leave it to the healers."

"We cannot travel thus," the elf argued, tearing off the feathered end of the shaft in his stomach. He gasped, for even the slightest movements were jarring the wound and sending raging fire across his senses. "I need you… to pull it out from behind me. It went straight through…"

Nervously, Adriano looked at Morgetti's army, running toward them. He's never pulled out arrows from bodies before, but they did not have much time. Closing his eyes tightly and muttering a prayer, he quickly pulled at the pointed end of the arrow that went into the elf's stomach and out his lower back. The elf beneath him cried out and curled up, hands flying to clutch at his stomach.

Legolas struggled with every breath as spots danced before his eyes. He gagged, and felt the warmth of his lifeblood come out of his mouth, threatening to choke him.

"We have to go, we have to go," Adriano said anxiously, hands flailing in panic, "My lord, what of the other one? Do I pull as well?"

_Gods no_, Legolas thought desperately, both for the pain that he'd taken from the first pull, and the knowledge that the arrow his chest had taken will be much trickier to remove. It did not go through him cleanly as the other did, and the pointed end of the arrow was probably piercing something important.

"My lord?" Adriano called to him, shaking his arm. The elf's eyes seemed vacant, staring up to the blue skies. He seemed lost to the world, his only ties to it was the burning pain in his body, and the screaming of an angry madman.

"What's he saying…?" Legolas asked Adriano suddenly, distractedly. His eyes leveled at the young Easterling aide's confused and worried face.

"Who?" Adriano asked, as he waved urgently for a horse-borne elven soldier to fetch them.

Legolas tiredly pointed toward Morgetti, who was still gleeful amidst the chaos that surrounded him. The rebel leader by now had also taken toward shredding the white flag Legolas had brought earlier into shreds and tossing them about with spite.

"He says our conventions do not bind him," Adriano said hastily, motioning anxiously for one of the elven riders to come quicker. Morgetti's army was closing in; the rebel archers ceased from shooting because many of their allies were charging and coming into the line of fire.

"Conventions…?" Legolas asked, confused.

"White flags and negotiations and talks of peace," Adriano said quickly, "He says we are trespassers in _his_ land. We can offer him nothing, not life and not peace, because there is no peace, even at the end of the fire, for one whose life and loves was stolen, until he can get them all back."

The elven rider Adriano summoned forward was bearing a free horse. The soldier ceased beside them, and threw the reins of the free steed to Adriano. He glanced at his prince worriedly, before covering their retreat with arrow-fire.

The young Easterling struggled with collecting the elven Prince in his arms. Adriano embraced Legolas, wary of the prince's wounds, and rode the horse hard at once. The elf who had come to their rescue rode beside them, firing arrows as they raced toward the Sang-age palace.

Shaking in pain, Legolas nevertheless turned to look behind him, past the shoulder of Adriano, who was holding him tightly. They breezed past Tadeo's body, limp as a doll on the ground. It was a pitiful, regretful sight, but he knew it was necessary to leave the old soldier's corpse behind for now. He could only be relieved that none other of his friends and allies were left behind as well.

Morgetti was madly leading the charge toward the city. The horses the elves and their allies were much faster, and will get to the palace in good time, far earlier than any rebel could. In this way, Legolas did not at all fear for their safety. He found the rebel leader's madness was more terrifying. How close did he come to a rage such as that, he wondered.

_I tried to save you_, Legolas thought toward Morgetti, _But you leave us with no choice_.

Much blood will be spilled this day, he knew. It was strange now, that he'd remember what Prince Nicolo told him not so long ago.

"Adriano," he said to his fellow rider softly, blinking as his eyes blurred and threatened to shut forever, "Your master, he was right. All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war," he coughed, and felt more of his blood streak down his chin. Irritated, he raised a quaking hand to swipe at it as he continued, "All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance. Look at him. Did I look like that?"

"No my lord," Adriano said, clutching the fading elf more tightly in his arms, "I think we saved you in time."

_How right you are_, thought Legolas, as his body shook and he coughed all the more. He pressed a hand to his mouth, vaguely disturbed to find rich, bright red blood in his palms, before he was distracted by a completely different line of thought.

_Some things we really do realize only near death_, he mused as he closed his eyes, _It's almost tragically useless_.

To be continued…


	31. The Rest of My Life

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

Danesh: a Dolores captain

Hector: a Sang-age Captain

**

* * *

****PART FOUR: Endings**

Chapter Twenty-two: The Rest of My Life

The Land of the Sang-age

* * *

Many of the mercenaries deserted Morgetti after it was made clear that the defenses couldn't be broken even if every single one of them died. They'd fight and kill for high pay and great rewards, being mercenaries. But what good could gold do the dead, save that they can be buried in a casket studded with it? And then in strange karmic retribution, they imagined that brigands like they themselves once were will only steal said casket from their graves and leave their bodies out in the sand. And so the mercenaries left, until naught but the original fifty or so of Morgetti's soldiers remained.

This was the scene that greeted the joint forces of Elessar and his western and eastern allies, a scene of half-hearted battles and the near-closing of a ferocious, hideously one-sided battle. Nathaniel's palace looked perfectly intact, and the combat was more close-contact in the city around it.

"My lord!" an elven soldier yelled at Aragorn as he downed an Easterling and noted the arrival of the King of Gondor, "They need you at the palace! The barricade is heavy, and the archers are poised at the ready against any intruders. But they will know to recognize you and usher you in with haste!"

Aragorn's brows furrowed in thought, before he decided that perhaps Legolas made the order to ensure his safe arrival, and to share in counsel over the progression of the battle.

"Prince Legolas is there?" Aragorn asked, just before the elf turned to fight another of Morgetti's rebels.

"Yes, my lord," replied the elf, "Hurry."

Aragorn broke from the party he arrived with, felling a rebel or two that got in his way. Eomer, Nathaniel and Elladan behind him did the same. But unlike them, he did not stay for the battles, did not actively seek foes out. He was primarily needed at the palace, after all, and since all on the ground seemed well under control, that was where he headed.

The gates opened for him at once, and almost shut at the tail of his horse. They were taking no chances in letting any of the rebels in, and it was easy enough to see why: the palace was filled with women and children who've been displaced from their homes for their own protection.

Aragorn jumped from his horse, tossed his reins to a young steward before asking where Legolas was.

Unlearned in Westron, the boy's eyes just widened anxiously, and gestured vaguely for the low walls around the palace. Nodding his thanks, the King jogged toward said direction, and asked for Legolas again the very moment he ran into another elven soldier.

'You will find him in the healing wing we improvised near the east wall,' the elf told him, grasping his arm and saying earnestly, making Aragorn's blood freeze, 'It is good that you are here, my lord. It is good that you are here.'

Aragorn's eyes bore into the elven soldier's. The battle was almost won, victory was certainly only moments away, that was sure enough. That meant his presence was not wanted expressly for his military aid. "What do you mean?" he asked the soldier.

'The prince, sir,' replied the soldier, suddenly hesitant, 'I'm afraid… Did they not tell you? He took terrible hurts.'

* * *

"Let me go," he moaned brusquely, breathlessly, writhing under the desperate grasp of those who held him to the ground, "Let me go…"

The prince, even with considerable injury, was giving the healers and the soldiers who kept him from moving quite the time of trying to hold him down. But his unabashedly royal tone remained unheeded, for it was plain to see that his cries were made up not just of his frustration over being unable to fight and lead, but also because of a lot of pain. His chest rose and fell in giant, heaving breaths, and bright red blood bubbled up in his mouth with his coughing. It was a marvel that his struggles were as strong as they were, but then again the healers and soldiers did not mind the extra hardship of dealing with him as long as it meant that their beloved prince was still very much fighting the fatal injuries he had taken.

"Hold him down," the head elven healer, ordered, "The tip broke when the arrow was drawn. We must find it."

Aragorn watched them a pace away, at the mouth of the door leading up to the improvised healing wing. He jogged here, upon word of Legolas' hurts. His hands were needed desperately, and he needed just as much to be here. But when he saw the elf writhing on a pallet, his feet seemed frozen, unable to move. He saw the bright red blood, knew it for its richness, knew full well it had no rights being coughed up in such copious amounts like that. And then blood of a bolder, near-black color was gushing out of his stomach too, and the precious liquid flowed from his body so boldly, it's as if it could never run out. The red stuff was all over the ground, such that even his sandy boots, here at the outskirts of the room, was not spared.

His healer's heart knew at once that he'd come too late.

And then his lover's heart bid him stand still, perhaps time wouldn't move, perhaps the elf can stay a while longer than those wounds gave him any right to.

The elven healer grabbed a surgical knife, and the injured prince gasped and tensed when the healer used it to make a wider cut of the hole on his chest, where the arrow had been. The healer then urged a young boy forward with a candle, and he pried the wound open to seek the offensive, misplaced tip of the arrow that had made a home of his prince's body. And then the healer's white hands went inside the cut in search of the arrowhead.

Legolas cried out involuntarily and his body arched back, making those who held him tighten their grips to keep him still. He coughed, and gasped, and his hurting eyes sought solace in the ceiling, as if he was seeing past it, out to the skies, further out to the stars, further out to the heavens. His anguish was stifling the room.

Breathless, Aragorn stared at the elven prince's pale face, the hair that clung to his cheeks and his forehead because of his sweat and blood. His blue eyes were burning, and his body was tensed and tightly wrought, the fists held at his sides shook with his iron grip.

_He is dying_, Aragorn thought to himself, and the thought brought tears to his eyes. He glared at the healer hotly. _You are hurting him. Stop_.

Characteristically, he's always preferred leaning toward hope rather than defeat. If he'd been so enmeshed in healing the elf himself, he wouldn't stop until he found that arrowhead. He'd seek it as if it could solve all the problems in his life. But standing back this way, his eyes and his knowing could no longer drown in the delusions that the elf could be saved. He was a hopeful man, yes. But he was never anyone's fool, and he most certainly hadn't been born blind. Objectively speaking, the elf's life was lost to them the very moment even just one of those two arrows struck.

'I can't get it,' the healer muttered in his native elvish. He dug deeper. Legolas cried out louder. And Aragorn's heart could have stopped right then and there.

_There is nothing to do but make him comfortable_, he berated the healer in his mind, though he cannot bring himself to say it aloud, make the order, make it real, make it hopeless.

Gimli was in the room, had apparently stood aside to let the healers do their work. The dwarf was the first to see Aragorn standing there with his stricken silver eyes staring at the elven prince.

"Aragorn…" the dwarf said softly, brokenly, making the room quiet. Even the angry, injured elf calmed somewhat, and it was only his hitched breathing that could be heard in the suddenly gnawingly empty space where the bustling sounds of his struggles once had been. Legolas' face turned toward the _adan_, and his stare was begging Aragorn to come forward and save him.

_Save you_… Aragorn thought achingly, _Save you from the valiant efforts of this fool, you mean? Let you die, is that what you want? Because you have to want that. I cannot give you anything else._

"Elessar," said the healer, taking his bloodied hands away from the prince's torso, "The arrowhead broke of. I cannot find it…"

Aragorn's eyes glanced at him, before drifting back toward Legolas' tearstained, bloodied face. Dare he be the one to say it? Dare he be the one to make it real, and irreversible?

He remembered, how not so long ago it was Legolas who had released him to his fate. They were in Rohan. They just told each other how much they loved one another, and then he had to turn away and say goodbye, to be with someone else.

_How funny it was,_ he remembered thinking,_ how ridiculous was this situation that one could really die of laughter and hurt. How strange, that one can love so fiercely that one was willing to let go. Let go with an assuring smile, to say, _it's all right, go where you must, do what you must_. How strange, that you can love me so much you can release me. And that I love you more by your letting go, and ultimately, though we love more, the more we are apart._

_I love you enough to let you go too_, he thought of Legolas, _I love you enough to let you go._

Setting his jaws, he stepped forward and fell to his knees next to the elf's pallet. His haunted silver eyes caught the elf's blue, blue gaze.

"Let me go," Legolas said again, more quietly now, more warily. Limb by limb, his weary body slackened.

"Release him," Aragorn told the healers and soldiers softly, though his gaze never left the elf's, "Please. He will not struggle anymore."

One by one, the hands that held the elf down fell away from his body, and tears welled in his eyes all the more at the sudden freedom. He blinked at them defiantly, caught his breath.

"Elessar?" the healer called to the _adan_, "The arrowhead…"

Aragorn placated him with a wave of his hand, and leaned over Legolas attentively as the elf spoke, his voice quaking and barely above a whisper now.

"There's a battle," Legolas breathed, shifting and trying to push himself off the ground, "We are needed. My swords…"

Aragorn placed calming but authoritative hands on his shoulders. 'Keep still _mellon-nin_,' he said in Elvish, 'We've won. They do not need your sword anymore.'

_I love you enough to let you go too…_

Legolas swallowed, looked around at the faces that hovered over him worriedly, before resting his gaze upon Aragorn's mournful but determined ones.

"Legolas," he said softly, "Your wounds…" Aragorn's hands drifted from Legolas' shoulders down to his bubbling chest wound- _the lungs were shot to hell_, Aragorn realized angrily, and then over the hole where the darker, richer blood gushed freely from his stomach. He didn't know what to do with them, and he knew far less how to say so.

"The arrows had to come off," the elf explained with a gasp, as the man's probing fingers made the already unbearable wound feel all the more as if it was aflame, "Dear gods, they burn…"

Aragorn's brows furrowed. He rubbed a hand over his face, let it rest over his mouth, where all the things he couldn't say were helplessly lodged.

"I need," the King stammered, struggling. He was in deep now, felt his objectivity slipping, finding himself in the desperate, blinded position from which he had relieved the earlier healer.

_He might still live_, he began to tell himself.

_Gods, he's hurting so much_…

_I want to fight this,_ he thought desperately, _I have to know I fought this to the very end. But he will only suffer needlessly, all for my selfish fears of regretting that I stood by and did nothing…_

'You need nothing,' Legolas said softly, watching the _adan_'s stricken face, 'Keep still, _mellon-nin_. _I_ am lost. I do not need your healing hands anymore.'

_I love you enough to let you go…_

Aragorn took a deep, shaky breath and blinked at the tears that sprung to his eyes. Exhaling shakily, Aragorn turned to the other occupants of the room. "Please. I beg you leave us."

Gimli watched the others walk away around him, knowing he was exempt from the request. Still, with tears streaming down his face, he knelt beside the elf. The dwarf opened his mouth, hesitated, seemed unable to say anything. He said nothing, and just gripped the elf's hands tightly, before releasing them with a gentle pat.

"I will miss our journeys together," Legolas told him weakly, hot tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. The dwarf gulped and nodded, rising to his feet and turning toward Aragorn.

"I believe," he said softly to the man just before he walked out of the room, "That the best of the goodbyes are yours by right to make."

* * *

_This next time that I give you up will be the very last time_…

"What are you thinking about?" Legolas murmured, watching his pensive face.

"I'm thinking up to the last time we spoke," Aragorn replied softly, "And I'm wondering what rights Gimli would think I have, after… after everything."

_After Arwen_, it went unsaid, _After I left you, and then asked you to marry an Easterling._

Legolas knew precisely what he meant, stared at him for a long moment before urging the man forward. "I don't have much time for regrets, Aragorn. We are here, that is all that I can look to." His eyes bore deep into the man's. "Do you still love me?"

"I do," Aragorn replied earnestly, "I expect I always will."

The elf smiled, andthe _adan_ scooted over closer, gently lifting him up and encasing him in his arms, wary of his wounds. Legolas sighed against him, clutching Aragorn's tunic tightly as he rested his cheek against the man's chest.

_I do not know… I do not know what I should hate more, _the elf had said to him not too long ago_, This body that keeps me from you, or this heart that pulls me toward you. I'm tearing myself apart. I do not know what to hate more._

Aragorn mused that the statement is as true for a man loving another man as it was for an _adan _who loved an elf, just as it is true for a man who loved a dying friend. Once again, their bodies were parting them, one to walk the Earth and one to leave it. And yet the heart does not find what it loves easy to forget, longing for something that will no longer be there.

"I do not know what I should hate more…" he said to the elf softly, making Legolas chuckle against him weakly.

"You can just love me," the elf said.

"I know how it goes," Aragorn smiled through his tears, clutching Legolas tighter and smelling the familiar woodsiness of his golden hair. "You are breaking another promise to me. You said you'd stay."

"One promise, two, three…" Legolas replied wearily, "You're special. I've never broken my word," he coughed, "To anyone else."

"I suppose I should feel particularly loved," said the _adan_.

"I… suppose," conceded the elf.

Aragorn held him quietly for a long moment. He was going to miss Legolas' voice. He was going to miss his smile and his burning, burning eyes. He was going to miss how safe he felt with the elf nearby. He didn't have too see him, or scent him, or hear him. The feeling that he was there was enough a lot of the time too.

"We're all alone," said Aragorn softly,

"We can be anyone we want to be," Legolas whispered.

"What am I going to do without you…?" Aragorn asked him.

"You've survived years before me," Legolas coughed as he chuckled, "And years after me. It is immaterial. You can just imagine I moved countries."

"You jest," berated Aragorn, "But you know it is very different."

"You look too far away," replied Legolas, smiling as he echoed what the _adan_ told him some time ago, "You look so much ahead that you stumble over the things that are right in front of you. We stand upon a cliff. Life can end tomorrow. But I love you, and I am with you. I love you. And we are together."

The elf was joyful when Aragorn said that to him in Edoras. Legolas had smiled and teasingly said, _Short-sighted. But effective. _Aragorn could not find it in himself to mimic that joy. Tears streamed from his eyes, down to the elf's cheek.

"Aragorn," breathed the elf, smiling, "No more tears."

"Too much to ask for," the _adan_ retorted.

"I love you and I am with you," Legolas said again, his voice drifting, "And when I leave, you can love Arwen and be with her. But for now… for now.," his breath caught, and each one became more laborious than the next. His hand clutched at the _adan _tighter.

"For now," he struggled, "At last I can say that I have you to myself, for the rest of my life."

The man could not find anymore words. He imagined he'd regret it, later. Later, he can imagine he'd think of a lot of things to say when the elf was dead, when there was no one to hear. But he thought perhaps nothing else needed to be said anyway. For the first time in a long time things between them was crystal clear. The past, the present, the future…

They held each other thus. They were still for awhile, even when the world moved. Sunsets and winds and breezes, and footsteps that hesitated outside the door, considering intrusion and changing their minds. And there too was laughter and victory, and then tears at the losses. Yes, for awhile, as long as the elf in his arms breathed, the world was still. But tears… tears still fell to the ground too, defying them. And blood flowed. And life still ebbed, somehow, escaping all their desires to enslave the moments left to them.

And then his breaths ceased, and his grip loosened, and his hands fell to his sides, empty hands, hands as empty as his absent eyes.

_

* * *

_

_What was the last thing you said to me_…, Eomer struggled to remember of his deceased elven friend.

_You want me out of your way, Eomer,_ the King of Rohan realized, finding some grim amusement over the irony.

_Not this far out of the way, Legolas_, he berated the elf's memory, shaking his head at himself. He sat with his allies in a banquet room in Nathaniel's hall, making good friends with the local brew. It was not nearly as potent as his beloved Rohan fare, but it was intoxicating enough. He was initially tempted to challenge the dwarf to a contest, but then it would have brought on a host of presently painful and unwelcome memories.

The Sang-agen were tactful enough not to have a large celebration over the victory of their city. As a matter of fact, most of them were garbed in mourning black, and once in awhile they'd bow and murmur at the westerners with their strange language, sounding apologetic and sincere. Eomer supposed that everyone's quite surprised and pained over the death of the elven prince in some way, both the friends who loved him and the strangers who were in awe of him, these strangers he died to protect.

"What will become of this treaty now, you think?" Elladan of Rivendell asked from beside him, over dinner.

"Everyone's already signed," said Eomer, "The bind was supposed to be marriage, but now I believe everyone's seen it is irrational to disregard everything just because the groom is dead, after all that we've been through together. The purpose of the marriage was to ensure a bond. And a bond we've already achieved… united for the first time, dying for each other. I think in the long-run, the Easterners appreciate more that Legolas died for them, than if he just married one of their most beautiful women and lorded over their lands. It is the generosity of it that made the best gesture, I think. I have a feeling they know that. For now, the signatures will hold, without a wedding."

"I think so too," said Elladan, looking down at his nth emptied pint of ale. It wasn't a good habbit, he knew, but he's traveled with men a lot, it wasn't his fault he found a liking for good brew.

"Not bad, eh?" Eomer asked.

"Oh no," agreed Haldir, who also shared their quiet table. The absence of Elessar was potent, but they made do well enough with the company afforded them. Gimli, Adriano, Jonah and Mikael were also in their table.

"When are we leaving again?" Gimli asked blearily, already mostly drunk.

"Tomorrow morning," replied Elladan, realizing it belatedly. Most of them were going to be asleep on the bloody road, that's for certain-sure.

"I heard rumors Morgetti was caught alive," Adriano mumbled, his tolerance of the brew lowest of all the hardy drinkers there, "When his army was failing, he tried to kill himself, and even _that_ failed! Poor, pathetic man. Can do no right…"

Mikael muttered something in his language, an ancient, dirty curse that made Elladan's and Haldir's eyes widen in shock.

"He should have done the deed sooner," the old soldier said in Westron, "Saved us all the trouble and all the loss. If he wanted to succeed, he could have asked for my aid."

"And mine," grumbled the dwarf.

They fell silent again. The table was quiet, but the anger and the confusion here was true and undeniable too.

"This is all my fault," Adriano said.

"Place no blame where it is undeserved," advised Haldir mildly.

"I just desperately had to have my hands wrapped around that bastard's neck," Adriano said.

"Which bastard?" asked Gimli, "The rebel who killed Tadeo? Morgetti and his foolish rebels? How about the dead elf, for being a deserter when he left us? Many bastards going around, boy, you've only got two hands."

"I can lend him mine," Mikael murmured.

"You seem to be offering aid a lot," Jonah observed, uselessly.

"I'd give my hands for such a cause too," seethed Gimli, "But I get first dibs on Morgetti."

"Have any of you seen him, when he was brought in?" asked Elladan, "I heard that if he's been caught at all, he's being detained, kept from sight, kept from everybody. I guess the powers-that-be want him alive and well for a trial. Didn't want to risk any angry folk from barging in there and slitting his deserving throat."

"I've seen him," Eomer said suddenly, simply.

Heads turned his way. None of them knew this.

"It was one of my soldiers who caught him," Eomer said, "He was presented first to me. I ordered him protected, I ordered him hidden."

"Even from us?" asked Gimli.

"Most especially from you my friend," replied Eomer wistfully, rising to his feet and excusing himself.

* * *

Elessar's absence at dinner did not go unnoticed. Eomer figured there were only two places he could possibly be- with the body of the elf, or seeking out the only identifiable murderer of Legolas, which was Morgetti.

The orders he left with his men were very specific. No one gets into that tent, under pain of death. No one, save for himself, or the King of Gondor and Arnor.

"Not even Lord Gimli, sire?" asked one of his soldiers.

"Not even him," Eomer replied.

There was something he had to see, something he had to deal with. Specifically, there was something _Aragorn_ had to deal with. Eomer was not worried about the vocal dwarf- he was more expressive of his grief and anger over the death of Legolas. And as long as such things were not kept so oppressively within oneself, then there was nothing to fear. If Gimli said he'd kill Morgetti, he would. Just as if Adriano said he'd ring the bastard's neck, he would. Who the King of Rohan worried for was Elessar, whose eyes screamed with misery, even as he drowned himself in silence and solitude. Those who do not give voice to such things presented a greater danger of destroying themselves. Just as Legolas once almost did, when he bottled up so much of his rage that it ultimately brought him to kill.

_My friend_, Eomer thought to Legolas_, I was not here to save you. But I believe there is one thing I can do for you…_

Eomer walked toward the Rohan camp, just outside the capital. His soldiers saluted him, and he found the guards he tasked with Morgetti's well-being sitting around a fire, having supper. They told him Elessar demanded to see the prisoner just a short while ago.

"We left him alone with Morgetti," said one guard, "And moved away as you ordered us to do, my lord."

"Good," said Eomer, "Excellent work. Have a good meal, gentlemen."

The King of Rohan walked away from the fire, headed for the dimly-lit tent found at the outermost rim of the Rohan camp. He found Aragorn standing by the entrance of the tent, looking bewildered and weary. Elessar looked up at his arrival.

"You did not tell me you found him," said Aragorn darkly, "I had to hear bloody damn rumors."

"I knew you'd find out yourself," Eomer said mildly, nodding toward the tent. "You've been inside?"

"Yes," snapped Aragorn.

"Is he still alive?" Eomer asked, unblinking. Aragorn set his jaws and just growled at Eomer. "So he is," the King of Rohan concluded, "You disappoint me."

"Oh do I?" retorted Aragorn, "Or do you mean to say I've exceeded your expectations, hm?"

"Why are you mad at me?" Eomer asked.

"Because you're dangling the damned Ring of Power in my face," seethed Aragorn, "He killed Legolas with his stupidity, his foolishness. And then you let me in, you order your men to leave me be, he's tied and unarmed, I'm angry and I'm _burning_ for his blood. Why am I mad at you? You're playing these cursed games."

"I've seen Legolas in vengeance," said Eomer, "He and I, we've crossed blades and we've spat out curses at each other over it. He found no healing in hurting others, you know. Neither will you. He found his own way back. I thought I'd give you the opportunity to do the same."

"_Much_ appreciated," Aragorn said darkly, sarcastically. He did not like being a pawn in some game! He hated the feeling of being tested.

"You didn't kill him," Eomer said, "Why?"

Aragorn stared at King of Rohan hotly for a long while, before his eyes simmered down to a weary, lonely gaze.

"Legolas went into those talks with the rebels wanting to save this madman's life," Aragorn said quietly, "I love the elf more than I can hate those he tried to save, those who ultimately killed him. And besides… in Morgetti's eyes, I saw my face. We were both just as angry. But I was not as lost as he. Or at least, not yet- it all depended on whether or not I descended my blade and killed him, paying his life for my satisfaction. But then I decided- he deserved my pity, not my pride. And I needed to know that I could give it, that I could free myself enough to forgive him. Because if I couldn't… then I'd carry his revenge in my revenge. And likely someone somewhere will one day want to come after me. And then where would we all be?"

"Just so," Eomer said softly, satisfied.

To be continued…


	32. Sweet Warrior

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

Danesh: a Dolores captain

Hector: a Sang-age Captain

**

* * *

PART FOUR: Endings **

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sweet Warrior

The Land of the Sang-age

* * *

"I couldn't believe it was true." 

Aragorn's head shot up at the Sang-age King, who was standing by the door of the quiet room into which the body of Legolas of Mirkwood was moved. It was the room furthest from any noisy populated place, most quiet. So it was that it was granted for their use.

The elf was lying on the bed, body bare beneath a clean white blanket. He's been washed from head to toe, his hair rinsed. There was not a speck of dirt or sand on him, no speck of blood. His wounds and cuts were sewn by the best craftswomen's hands, such that the skin did not even seem torn, if one was not looking closely. The offensive arrowhead had been removed from his body, the tip that had made a home of the edges of his heart was in Aragorn's hands, at the moment.

The elf was beautiful in death too, there was little doubting that. But the world was missing out on the fire of his eyes, the character of his face. His body was a beautiful shell, but it held nothing inside, anymore.

Aragorn ran his hands wearily over his face, wiping at his tears under the guise of fighting off his tiredness. "I… I wrote his father. I promised him I'd bring Legolas home."

"As is fitting," Nathaniel said as he entered the room. On one hand, he was carrying a sizeable jug, the contents of which was filling the space with a gentle, flowery smell. "He did not like us much. He shouldn't have to be laid to rest here."

"Except I do not know how," Aragorn said softly, "The travel will be long and slow. He will… I mean the corpse… it will not hold up very well."

"No, it won't," agreed Nathaniel, "In travel it will certainly dry, discolor and shrivel-"

Aragorn tossed him a warning look, cutting off the morbid description. No, he did not want to think about that. "I was contemplating burning him, and then giving his ashes to his father. But Thranduil would want to see his face, I think. Hold his hands…"

Nathaniel laid the jug down on the ground, and stood next to Legolas' bed. He stared at the dead prince's face, but spoke to Aragorn.

"The last thing I said to him," said Nathaniel, "was that I did not find myself honored crossing blades with such a foe." He shifted his weight, grunted as he added, "A much-deserved comment at the time, I'm afraid. But one that I regret saying now."

Aragorn watched attentively as Nathaniel lifted the jug of flower-oil and poured its contents into a bowl that sat on a table next to the elf's bed. He dipped his hands into them, before setting aside the blanket that covered the elf's body a little, to pick up the prince's hands. The body was just beginning to stiffen.

"The Easterlings have long traveled far away from our homes to wage war," he said, as he massaged Legolas' left hand with the oil, digging against the skin, pressing, caressing. "Often in our rush, we burn the bodies of our dead. But we've lost many kings and princes in these battles too, and we always made time to bring them home, to journey back to our lands with their bodies. It was a matter of pride. If we cannot do this even for our nobility, for the best of us, what do we stand for?"

He let go Legolas' hand, and dipped his own into more of the oil, before proceeding up from the elf's wrist to his forearm, doing the same, hypnotic massage of working the oil into the skin, as he continued with his story.

"We learned how to travel far bearing our dead," said Nathaniel, "The bodies bore the sun and bore the dry air. Long enough to get home in a state that allows those who loved them to see a face they could still recognize, holds hands that are warm, and familiar."

Nathaniel stopped working on the elf's forearm and picked up Legolas' hand again, raising it for Aragorn to see. He folded the hand at the wrist, squeezed at the fingers.

"See how soft?" Nathaniel whispered, "See how real? And look how the oil lends gold and glow to his skin. It is not flat, not dull. It is almost as if he was simply sleeping."

Aragorn's eyes watered at the sight, marveled at Nathaniel's sharing of this precious liquid, relieved that he could present to Thranduil a fair remnant of his fallen, beloved son.

"Why?" he asked the King of the Sang-age, _Why gift us with this_?

"I was unable to do this for my own son," Nathaniel replied distractedly, as he dipped his hands in the oil again, moving his way up to Legolas' arm and shoulder, "Strange, that I should do it for his murderer. I find I may never be able to forgive Legolas for killing Nicolo. I am a father, we are simply made that way. I could have ended with that. But I choose to see things another way also.

"You see," Nathaniel continued, "It is very hard to give up one's life. Harder especially to give it up for strangers. But I know that it is doubly difficult to give up your life for people you actually despise. He hated us, and yet he bled for us. This is the least I can do, I believe."

He touched the fallen prince's face reverently. "I do not know how you did it, sweet warrior," he said softly, "But you found it in yourself to bleed for us. I can believe now that perhaps we've been brothers all this while after all."

Nathaniel pulled his hand away, and he looked to Aragorn with burning eyes. "This was Nicolo's room, you know. There are no ghosts here." He smiled at the Gondorian King, "I've shown you how to do it. I will leave you now."

* * *

Eryn Lasgalen

* * *

A messenger came with a piece of parchment, and midway through reading it the King urgently asked to be left alone. And so he was alone in his wide, empty court, when said parchment was crumpled in his fist and his other hand shot up to his mouth, covering it as it opened not of his will, letting out a wail that though its sound was muffled, the force of its brokenness shook the room. 

He fell to his knees, rocking himself, disbelieving.

_Your son is dead_.

_He died honorably, as a warrior_.

The tone had at first been cold, colorless. It did no justice to his son, the spitfire, to him he was the light of the earth. The letter was from Elessar.

_I am almost glad we are in the East, rather than the West_, the letter went on. The writer was changing his tone, as if he too realized that his flat words were an injustice. As if he realized that he could risk the pain of better words from deeper memories, if it meant painting a more justified, truthful portrait.

_In the west, his eyes share the color of the skies and the scent of his hair reminds me of how the trees smell. Reminders of him are readily accessible already, without earth and sky having to tease me that he could just be around the corner_._ Because he's left us. Because he is lost to us, and really, the gods must soon know that the teasing is unkind._

_I cannot imagine your loss, or the pain of your heart. I've only known and loved him for all his wonder and magic. But you actually helped make him. You brought him to this Earth. I should imagine the hurt is acute. I cannot begin to fathom it, when mine is harsh enough. _

_I will bring him home to you. Until then, my lord. The gods be with you._

Tears streamed from Thranduil's eyes. They fell like a flood, thoughtless, continuous. Destructive. He threw the letter aside. And then from the darker corners of his hall, from the periphery of his vision, he noticed wide eyes peering at him intently.

"Out of the shadows, you insolent boy," he growled, recognizing the voyeur as the Easterling boy, their young houseguest. He rose to his feet, struggled to regain his calm.

The child did as he was told, and stood before the King, unabashedly watching his face, knowing what it all meant. His mother's cried that way, many of his people's cried that way too. Even elves cried, and even elven kings. Why was everybody fighting? They were all the same!

"I'm sorry," Dorjan told him, sounding a bit confused. Sorry for the intrusion? Sorry for the loss? He did not clarify, and just scampered to pick up the letter Thranduil had thrown away, handing it back to him. "You may want it later."

The King was irritated at the intrusion. But when he stared the boy down he found only honesty, and earnest desire to help.

_Want it later_, he thought bitterly, _Who would want to reread such a letter, to remember such a time…?_

"Mama always said," said Dorjan, "To remember what it felt to fall, so I'd know how hard it was and how strong I'd been. She said… she said that's what scars are for, even if they're not very pretty."

"You are too young," Thranduil snapped at the boy, "You are not supposed to know these things." But he folded the letter neatly, and placed it in his tunic pocket, next to his heart.

* * *

Dolores, 

The Northeast

* * *

Elsewhere, another letter made its way into someone's pocket. This too, had the characteristic crumple of one's fingers and fist at the corners, the reflexive action to a tremendous loss. 

With shaking hands, Elrohir folded the paper carefully, before keeping it. He took a deep breath, and another, and another. He wondered how many times Estel had to write that thrice-damned letter. He'd have sent word to Eowyn and Faramir. Up to Arwen. And then to the elves of Ithilien. And Lorien. To the hobbits, perhaps, miscellaneous dignitaries. The death of a royal was still the death of a royal. And then there was a letter to Thranduil too. How many times did Estel write it? How many times did he break his own heart, to say _Legolas is dead_ over and over, write it, put it on paper, make it real.

Elrohir ran his hands over his face, raking at his hair. Estel could have told him he lost a brother. Legolas was a dear, old friend.

_And it's sad because he was very handsome too_, he tried to kid himself, except when one spoke of the deceased elf's looks, one ultimately remembered it, called it up to mind. And when that happened, more than the beauty there had been, ironically life. Intensity, humor, intelligence, caring.

Tears sprang to his eyes, such that Nadina's figure was blurred when she stepped forward and walked toward him. She embraced him tightly, saying, "I heard."

He laughed mirthlessly, but returned her embrace with equal ferocity, and much more need. _You heard_, he thought miserably, _What a bloody understatement._

To be continued…


	33. The Sun Will Shine

Author: Mirrordance

Title: Love, War

Summary: The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge? Slash.

**TIMELINE**: the story happens about a year or two after Return of the King— the exact year is immaterial really, just as long as certain future events operate as a given: one, peace is yet to be attained with the Eastern tribes of Middle-Earth. Two, Ithilien is already restored and Legolas lords over the elven colony there, just as Gimli is lord of the Glittering Caves. Three, Eomer is already engaged, as is Eowyn and Faramir. Four, that Elrond and Galadriel have already sailed away to Valinor. The fic is generally faithful to the book and the movie with respect to the major events, although some factors about it may be considered as an AU; the irrepressible Haldir, for instance, is very much alive in this piece.

**ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE**:

The Sang-age Tribe: a tribe name created from Latin roots which means 'belong to blood.' They are a creation of the author and is supposed to be one of the multitude of Easterling tribes, not particularly powerful but also influential. Their land is situated east of Rohan.

The Doloresi: another tribe of author-imagined Easterlings, whose land is situated east of Eryn Lasgalen.

King Nathaniel: the King of the Sang-age tribe.

Prince Nicolo: Heir of Nathaniel, and a renown and vicious warrior.

King Danielli: the king of the Doloresi, and a dear friend and ally to Nicolo.

Princess Nadina: Nathaniel's daughter, Nicolo's sister, and Danielli's wife.

Rebekah: Nadina's personal maid.

Dorjan: Nadina and Danielli's son.

Lilian: Legolas' murdered betrothed. An elf from Lothlorien.

Mikael: Legolas' personal guard.

Adriano: a young Easterling aide and valet.

Jonah: an old Easterling warrior.

Tadeo: an old Gondorian warrior

Morgetti: Nathaniel's ward turned rebel leader who wants to take the kingdom of the Sang-age from Nathaniel.

Danesh: a Dolores captain

Hector: a Sang-age Captain

**

* * *

PART FOUR: Endings**

Chapter Twenty-four: The Sun Will Shine

Eryn Lasgalen

* * *

Thranduil stood at his receiving hall in his darkest, most formal robes. He looked cold and mighty, quite invincible. But those who knew him best could tell by his eyes that a part of him had died when Legolas died.

And then his eyes shattered again when his son was brought before him. Legolas was placed upon an elaborate bier. It looked exotic with rich, embroidered silks laden with jewels, gifts from the Eastern folk he died defending. The cloths and stones came in all shades of green, for the people heard that the prince came from a wooden place, and had a spectacular love of trees. It matched the colors of his House, which he wore also in his burial clothes- a combination of the House formals and gleaming armor. His face was serene, his elegant hands folded over his chest, where his beloved bow rested.

Thranduil blinked at the tears in his eyes, and reached out to touch his son's face. It was soft, and warm. So much so that the King of Eryn Lasgalen was compelled to whisper, "Why look. He only sleeps."

* * *

Because practically everyone who wanted to be in the funeral had been in the East, they all arrived in the Woodland Realm at approximately the same time. Thranduil's Household was long used to chaos- both in war and in the grandeur of entertaining. But they held so much less gusto this time around, as a steady stream of Eastern strangers and Western allies walked into their halls with condolences for the death of their warrior-prince.

Nathaniel met the elven King in Thranduil's Hall. Aragorn watched them watch each other- measuring, wondering at the cruel fates that allowed their shared abomination of fathers burying their own sons. It was unnatural, it was not meant to be…

Nathaniel bowed before Thranduil, and Thranduil solemnly returned the gesture of respect.

* * *

Nadina walked with the morose elf, who had spent the most of their jurney west to Eryn Lasgalen in a quiet gloom. He'd smile once in awhile, as if in memory, but even that was tainted by his sadness with his lonely, expressive eyes.

She missed his clever, irreverent barbs. He had seemed recovered in the middle of the long journey. She thought maybe that fighting spirit of his had known too much loss and thereafter too much strength to be weighed down for too long. Or maybe his evil mind could not keep his tongue from speaking. She wasn't sure, but she considered his temporary recovery a blessing, especially after his sadness returned the nearer they got to Eryn Lasgalen.

"I keep thinking about his father's face," Elrohir said softly, as a majordomo ushered them into Thranduil's Hall.

She reached to his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, before the doors opened to them. Side by the side, the two nobles gave Thranduil a bow.

The King was watching the young woman's face carefully, with some wonder, as if he was thinking of what-might-have-been's, had he met the stunning young woman in his son's wedding instead of in his funeral. Her face was giving him a window to the impossible future- what Legolas' son with her could have looked like, how his son could have dealt with being a father, being a husband… Thranduil took her hands in his, as if to access more of those fleeting thoughts.

She read his eyes, and smiled wistfully at him, compelled to apologetically say, "I did not know him at all, my lord. But I am sorry for your loss, and grateful for his and your generosity."

Torn from the last of his illusions, Thranduil blinked at her and nodded curtly, releasing her hands. He gave his majordomo a subtle nod, and the aging elf obediently opened the doors and announced the entrance of Nathaniel, Elessar, Gimli the Dwarf and Elladan.

Elrohir turned toward his friends, and exchanged an embrace with his brothers. Nadina bowed at her father, before he engulfed her with the same welcome.

"I want to see him," Elrohir said to Aragorn softly.

* * *

Days later.

None else had the voice and courage to speak of him after his death, none but her, Eowyn of Rohan. Those who knew him best had been robbed of words, nothing could seem to encase him, not even the glorious song that the elves sung, though it sure made the earth shake and the trees weep and the clouds turn gray.

East and West had gathered for the very first time, not for a wedding, but for a funeral. And it bound them in blood, probably bound them more than any wedding ever could have. It was un-spokenly enough to seal all the treaties they made.

Nadina of the Sang-age was sitting near to the front of the ceremonies, having once been the ex-betrothed, and studied the elf prince's face as he lay in state. It was quite the face, she thought, strikingly beautiful. His eyes were closed, but she was told they were frosted blue.

_I never got to know you_, she thought_, I've never even you're your eyes. I only know you for the love of your friends_.

Her son Dorjan held her hand tightly, and beside the boy sat King Nathaniel, whose face was set as his gaze roved over the still form of the elven prince who in the end, had lost his life for the Sang-age people.

"How do you know if you've loved," Eowyn of Rohan said to the crowd, cutting into her thoughts. Nadina focused on her instead. She thought that Eowyn looked radiant in mourning white, with her red hair aflame, framing her face. She held no parchment upon which she had written down what she wanted to say, and tears streaked shamelessly down her cheeks although her voice was strong, and filled with conviction.

"Is it if you find he does no wrong," she continued, "When there seems no flaw to his character? There are many such great men, and all they earn at times is respect and loyalty. And then there are those folk who are like Legolas, who's erred sometimes, whose shown his tears and his anger and his hurts and his scars, and yet he is loved. It cannot be simply that… invincibility, that perfection. Is it when you enjoy his company? But one often enjoys the company of many. Is it supposed to be all of these things, all at once? Does that mean it is only a matter of time? You've known him long enough, you must love him by now. If I've only known him days, I cannot match your affection? How does one know?

"Loving truly is easy," she continued, her gaze adrift, as if caught in some memory, "It is so deceptively gentle, I do not even find it can be considered a fall, rather than the brush of a hand, or the first rays of the sun that warm your face. It is so easy, it is there without your knowing precisely how. And then it hits you when it is gone, and then you find that the future is no longer imaginable without someone, for you've set your eyes and the rest of your life around the idea that he will perpetually be there.

"You know you've loved," she went on, "When you realize you've made him an integral part of your future. And then when you reach that future and look back, you've also given him your most memorable pasts. Those you love own your unforgettable past and your foreseeable future. You know you've loved when you effectively see that somehow, you've decided you were incomplete after all."

She paused, smiling sadly. "I am made incomplete by the loss of a friend. And by the drawn faces that I see, I know somehow that when he died, he took a part of each of us with him. But it is not by his taking from us and thereafter leaving that I would wish for him to be remembered. I want to remember him for what he's left. He left me with the words I just said to you. I'm sure he left you with something else altogether, mine is just… one story amongst a litany."

Eowyn looked at the stern-looking King of Eryn Lasgalen. "I'm sure he gave his father a lot of consternation." She turned to the Easterling Adriano, whom she heard would have been killed by the arrow that Legolas had taken in his stead. "He left some of us our lives." To Nathaniel, she said, "Our lands." To Gimli, she said, "I don't know, perhaps… perhaps he's gifted you with a greater love of trees." She glanced at Aragorn, seated beside his crying wife, unsure of how to phrase what it was the elf could have given him.

"The sun will shine," she finished instead, "And with his once having crossed this Earth, our short time within it was made richer somehow. And in this, within each of us, he most certainly lives forever."

* * *

They laid him to rest next to his lovely mother, and then one by one they walked to his father and made their condolences and said their goodbyes. It was Elessar who lingered, until it was only him and Thranduil who stood by Legolas' grave.

The _adan_ King fell to a knee, and touched the soil that rested over his lost beloved's body, before rising to his feet and walking toward the elf.

Thranduil was staring at him hotly, a bit fiercely, and more than a little bit knowingly. Aragorn remembered that it was Thranduil who had fervently insisted that the prince not be laid to rest next to Lilian of Lorien, who once owned his heart.

_Does he know_, Aragorn wondered, even as he already knew the answer by the King's eyes.

"There are," Aragorn hesitated, breaking the silence. "He left some things. In Minas Tirith, in the room he often sleeps in. In Ithilien as well. You may want them…?"

"I find," the elf said wearily, his look softening, "I find myself thinking that perhaps you have more of a right to them, now. Just as you may have a right to stand here longer than I. That I must make my condolences to you, that I must excuse myself and leave you to your grief, rather than the other way around."

Aragorn bit his lip, stared at Legolas' father for a long while. "Did he tell you?"

"He did not need to," said Thranduil.

"Do you…" Aragorn hesitated, "Do you hate me?"

"I thought I could," replied the elf, "I find I cannot hate one whom my child loved so much. Or one who loves him equally so. You know, your eyes have dimmed. The lady was right, when she said my delinquent brigand of a son had stolen something from the lot of us."

Aragorn looked away from the father, stared at the grave that marked where the son rested.

"You have no heir," he said to Thranduil softly.

"After awhile you realize it's immaterial," said the elf, randomly motioning for earth and clouds, "All this is a pile of rocks, and we are all dust."

"You will leave soon," Aragorn guessed.

"I seek the ease of my heart," said Thranduil, "_As you said_. I cannot find it here, where his eyes share the color of the skies and the scent of the trees remind me of how his hair smells. I cannot find it here where I see you, you with your broken dimness by his absence. The earth's darker. I can only hope for relief while I wait his awakening."

Aragorn lowered his head, nodded wistfully.

"And your plans?" Thranduil inquired.

"Nothing changes in my affairs," replied Aragorn, "It is strange. He once told me something akin to this. That we've both made our choices to be apart. Hurtful though it may seem to say, his death is almost incidental to the rest of my life. I am to be with Arwen, and he with someone else. Mandos, in this case, I suppose."

"What did you have to say about that?' asked Thranduil.

"That no matter where life brought him I wanted him to be happy," replied the _adan_, "With me or not."

"Did he achieve this, you think?"

_"Aragorn," breathed the elf, smiling, "At last…I can say that I have you to myself, for the rest of my life."_

"I have reason to believe so," said Aragorn softly.

* * *

_How do you know if you've loved_… the Lady Eowyn's voice ran in his mind, making him think of camels in Imladris and women who looked like the dessert. He wondered how she would look like, walking about the rocks and trees and waterfalls of his home. He did not imagine she could seem misplaced.

He missed the Sang-agen party by a breath, for they've already left for home. By the time Elrohir walked into the King Thranduil's receiving hall, only a few people were left awaiting their horses and camels.

During the meal before the funeral, he noted that the Easterners were daunting to look at en-masse, especially all nine beautiful daughters of Nathaniel, whom he'd seen together for the first time today. It was like getting struck by lightning, and for a long moment, he deliberated the irreverence of giving them another appreciative glance, here in Legolas' day of rest. But recent memory of his friend pointed toward him finding more amusement over the occurrence than offense.

_'Who runs thy kingdom?' Legolas asked, looking from Elladan to Elrohir. They were old friends, and the Mirkwood prince knew full-well that in asking practical questions, one looked to Elladan primarily for answers._

_'Worry not, mellon-nin,' said Elrohir with a bark of laughter, 'You may find the land is actually in better form when we are not in it.'_

_'Speak for yourself, brother,' Elladan said wryly, 'The cause of the chaos is most often you, and it is therefore our lordly duty to take you away from Rivendell once in awhile.'_

_Arwen smiled at Legolas beatifically. She's long endured the banter with class and patience. "How are you, Legolas?"_

_"I am well," he replied, "I came from the front at Eryn Lasgalen, traveled south to that of Rohan and then Gondor, and Ithilien thereafter. I ran into your husband at the front, and he bid me come here to see if your brothers have burnt the place down."_

_"Only the tower, so far," Arwen jested, her face bland and serious though her eyes shone._

_"Elessar will be pleased," said Legolas gravely, "The lack of destructivity is an unexpected surprise. They've exceeded expectations, but then again, their visit is still not finished, is it?"_

And then another…

_Legolas smiled at him wryly. "Did you not grow any mature with age?"_

_"Fair to say," Elrohir conceded with a frown, after a moment of thought._

_"Ah!" said Legolas triumphantly, "I see some signs of maturity after all. An almost graceful acceptance of defeat."_

_"Not defeat," laughed Elrohir, "Never a defeat. I'm merely regrouping."_

_I'm merely regrouping_, he thought, smiling up to his friend's memory in salute. Legolas would want them to be happy. But the Rivendell did not give the nine daughters another glance, in fear of a cultural faux pas that could get him shot. Or trampled on by a camel. Or sat on by a _mumakil_, whatever kind of particularly Eastern punishment they could think of.

"Ah, brother," said Elladan to his twin, "There you are, there you are. I've been looking all over for you." There was a twinkle to Elladan's eye, one that Elrohir hadn't seen since they found out Legolas had died.

"Come with me," Elladan grabbed him by the arm, dragged him toward the stables.

"I was looking for someone, you know," Elrohir told his brother.

"Oh she had to leave already," said Elladan lightly, hoping to catch his twin off-guard…

"But why so soon…" murmured Elrohir.

"Ah there!" Elladan said triumphantly, "I thought something was amiss with you." The Rivendell twins made for the stables, where a mad camel was making a bit of ruckus, driving the horses and their watchers insane.

Elrohir froze by the gates at the sight, and the camel stopped and stared right back at him.

"I ran into Princess Nadina," said Elladan with a gleam in his eye, "She said, I must be the saner, more handsome twin. And then she left this with me, to give to you. She said the beast is ruined. It doesn't want any other master."

"She did not say you were saner or more handsome," argued Elrohir half-heartedly as he stared at the camel, arrested.

"A camel in Imladris," Elrohir breathed, lips curving to a grin as he stepped forward and patted the suddenly attentive camel's nose. Many things from the East could find a home in Imladris, with him. Today, a camel. Tomorrow… we'll see, who else he can convince.

Life goes on.

As Lady Eowyn said also, _The sun will shine._

THE END

May 24, 2005


	34. Afterword and FEE2:1

**AFTERWORD**** and "FOR EVERY EVIL 2" CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

I. The Original Plots and Endings. 

* * *

1. **The fic started out as non-slash**. It would have been what the teaser promised: "The War brought them together, but the peace will tear them apart. How much is a man willing to pay to keep a friendship, and how much is a friend willing to lose for revenge?" It's basically Legolas having lost his betrothed at the hands of the Easterlings, Aragorn in the middle of negotiating the peace and his best friend wanting them killed. Legolas gets caught, which puts Aragorn in the position of having to punish him, to show his fairness. So duty first, or friends first? Classic scenario. 

I got as far as chapter six, before I realized first, that people lose their loves all the time, without going berserk. I want the character to be strong and credible. This means that tere has to be an added dimension, there has to be one other reason. This fic has been in the works for a really long time, was stuck in chapter six for like, a year, moving only until it dawned on me that it has a great potential to be a slash.

So here comes turning point number one: chapter seven gives us a hint that the revenge is not only about losing Lilian- it's about what Legolas paid to return to her (losing Aragorn), and only to find she died, and in the end he's left with nothing. It's kind of the same, but I was hoping the double-whammy, and the fate-playing-tricks-on-me gig should give him even more anger.

2. **This fic was supposed to have more action/adventure**. The feeling I originally set out to do was kind of like, a fun swashbuckler, like a summer film (we all know I've veered quite far from this, haha, I got stuck on the depressing drama genre again). Remember in Chapter Thirteen, and Nathaniel was talking about the legend of Darat? The original story never included Morgetti and his desire for revenge. The original story was supposed to be Elrohir and Nadina getting caught up not in the middle of a rebellion, but in the middle of the search for the Immortal Blood of Darat. That's the original purpose of Chapter Thirteen, to set the back story. In the end, though, I felt like putting them in the middle of the search should've been a different story altogether, so the search for the blood became just a backgrounder for Morgetti, and Nathaniel's storytelling just became a kind of, texturizer for the Sang-age people; I wanted them to feel alive, with culture, and stories, to give them a more familiar, human face.

3.** Legolas was supposed to be blamed for the ambush of the wedding party**. When the wedding party was unheard from and seemed to have just vanished after they were captured by Morgetti, the ever-suspicious Nathaniel turned the blame on Legolas, who was unaccounted for, being in his own kingdom speaking with his father. The setup for this storyline you might have seen in Chapter Ten, when Eomer speaks with Aragorn and Gimli about what Legolas has been doing:

_"There are two ways that we can go about this. We want a treaty with the Easterlings, that is the end goal, am I correct?"_

_Aragorn nodded. "It is."_

_"Toward this treaty, " said Eomer, "We have to be able to gain their trust and their confidence, and show them our good will, not to mention our desire for a lasting bond. King Nathaniel proposes we seal the treaty with marriage, as is their tradition. They understand tenacity, and cunning, and victory in battle. They do not like Legolas, but they do not have to. He was their victor, and a warring race will readily embrace his displayed viciousness. _

_"But," said Eomer, with more difficulty, "they also understand blood. They understand justice. They know about Legolas' transgressions. The gods know he certainly did not bother with hiding his profound disdain for them. The way I see it, either Legolas seals the treaty by marrying Nadina, or he seals the treaty by accepting punishment for his crimes."_

In short, treaty by marriage or treaty by punishment. When the wedding party vanished and Legolas was blamed, the treaty was still possible by punishing him. So he is arrested. And the elf, stung by Aragorn's decision and the mistrust on his tainted name, doesn't bother with discouraging their suspicions. As a matter of fact, he even courts their hate. This line of the story would have brought us to the classic scenario of duty first or friend first for Aragorn, which I've been wanting to use from the start.

I even wrote a scene, where Aragorn visits Legolas in prison, garbed not as a King but as a Ranger, willing him to escape. What is the significance of his clothes, you may ask? Well, in Interlude 8, Aragorn became the King to save Arwen, right? If I'd have continued writing this scene, it would have been that he'd given up the King to save Legolas. And then Legolas would refuse to leave, saying he's always wondered if the man could rise to the occasion if it was he who was dying instead, if he could lay down his crown, if he could give up everything. Satisfied that Aragorn loves him enough to do so, he shows his own love by staying, and by receiving the punishment. It might have been death, but as we know, I did not go down this road far enough to decide which.

4. **Legolas**** and Nadina really were supposed to get married**. This ending tickled me. I was in a naughty mood and wanted to spread the depression around, so I started conceptualizing around Legolas living, and getting married to Nadina, with whom Elrohir was unfortunately in love with. But well, I figured one couple not getting together is sad enough, so I shelved this one.

Legolas dying in this fic was a bit of a surprise to me. Actually, the scene just came to me, and it's how I work. I get inspired by scenes and I build stories around them, give characters the chance to say these kind-of "trailer"/quotable lines. In this fic, I was just really desperate to have Legolas say "I get to have you for the rest of my life," and he dies shortly afterward. As a matter of fact, I didn't think of killing him off until I posted Chapter Eighteen a few days ago. I did leave you guys a note to warn you I may end it in an unexpected manner. I suppose his death suddenly seemed merciful, toward the end. With Aragorn having a beautiful life with Arwen, Gimli hanging out with new friends, Lilian dead, his kin sailing, Nadina falling in love with Elrohir… it suddenly just clicked. Why not? He can have Aragorn for a little while, a very important while just before he dies, and then the guy gets to go back to his family. Kind of like a happy ending. In its distorted way!

* * *

II. On the Characters. 

* * *

1. **On**** Legolas**. All right, so everyone knows he's my favorite. I thought a darker kind of Legolas would be exciting to write. I'm kind of adventurous with him. If you've read my works "For Every Evil," "Last Stand," "Exile" and "Tempus Edax Rerum" among others, you'd note that I've written him as a cop in Los Angeles, as terminally ill, as a fugitive wanted for murder, and as a time traveler of all things. I've been so demented that I forgot I haven't tried out one of the more classic routes- the very risky slash route. But I've tried crazier things, so, why not? And this is what came out. 

Now, I'm not for really explicit stuff, I'm not that courageous. So I made the fall softer, kind of. And I'm straight-to-the bone, so I desperately avoided a kind of, feminine depiction because I wanted the character to still be appealing to women like me. I wanted the character to be masculine, incidentally finding love in another man, but hardly effeminate. The body was incidental, he even once loved a woman.

Here, you can probably suddenly see that "Love, War" became not just my slash experiment, but I found myself regarding it as my statement on, well, Love. In it, I attempted to answer the part that a body plays on love, the part that belongs to the flesh. And then how does one know if one's in love, etc., etc. The answers are in Interludes 4 and 7: The body is almost like a prison, death is our forced freedom from it and love is the kind that we choose, you know you've loved if they own your most memorable pasts and your foreseeable future, when you realize you've decided you're incomplete after all. The legend Aragorn talks about with the gods separating bodies is a real one, by the way. I just forget from where haha.

So there are several key dimensions to this characterization. **The slash dimension** is discussed above. The other is the **vengeance dimension**.

Did he have enough grief to make his actions believable? As I said, he lost both his loves and felt like life made a mockery out of his freedom and his decisions. So, we have an angry guy with a history of loss (his mother too). He starts out really ferocious, without hesitation, without regret. One of my favorite nuances is actually when in Chapter One, he even wipes his knife with his dead enemy's cloak. I wanted readers to see, right at the very onset, almost a stranger. Who is this guy, he's not the Leggy we know! And then to look into the rest of the story to see how he turned out that way. And then of course, classic foreshadowing, Legolas gets his warning from his enemy in chapter three: All that is truly grave and tragic begins with vengeance.

The third dimension is the **redemption dimension**. How can one who's been so corrupted by his anger change? It starts with Mikael, who tells him he's wrong. And then there is Eomer, who even fights him by the sword. And then, there is Nathaniel, who tells him it is not an honor to fight. These are all little dents I bring to that amor of confidence that he is right. The fiercer little bites come from his love of Aragorn and Legolas' desire to give him peace, and then the coup de grace comes from his own father, who tells him he has more anger than loss. And then, just to reinforce the idea that he made the right decision to change, he sees the manman Morgetti and is happy he isn't like that.

The thing with key dimensions is that every single one had to believable, every single one had to be backed up by "proof," or instances in the story that show why they are like that. I hope I succeeded in making them feel whole, and natural, that all the events that happened to the characters logically brought them to that point of their personalities.

2. **On**** Aragorn**. I like the idea of giving this guy fear and doubt, because he's just so… strong, you know. Classic hero, even right down to his to-be-or-not-to-be moments. As you may have seen in the Interludes, he was not shy nor heristant about his love. But in Chapter 12 and 15, he does begin to wonder if he's made a mistake in his choices. He's not regretful, of course. I didn't want him to be, it did not feel right that I should depict that he simply settled for less, when he had a son he loved dearly and a wife he'd die for. So I just wanted him to think on how much his present situation cost him and Legolas. To know it was high, but not to regret because it was a beautiful life too. Because I like a complex Legolas, I gave him three key dimensions, right? I have several dimensions for Aragorn too. First, is the **Family Man**, which I explained above. In short, no regrets and no betrayals. He's made his choice. He'll stick with it.

The other dimension is **The King**. What it meant when he took up his sword in Interlude 8, what it meant to make a treaty, what it meant for him as a King and a lover when he asked Legolas to marry an Easterling. I hope all these came together decently.

3. **On**** Gimli**. Oh, a very, very hard character to write for me in "Love, War." I focused on one dimension of his character here, and that is **Gimli-without-Aragorn-and-Legolas**. If you noticed, all the friendly banter that was often highlighted between Gimli and Legolas hadn't been focused on; they were just backgrounders to show you they're friends. With respect to the character, the real focus was how does Gimli of the Three Hunters cope with being the third-wheel guy? I felt it was impossible not to reflect on what the union of Aragorn and Legolas could mean to the third hunter. My answer is that he shows them his own brand of love and understanding by giving them space. He's so brash, but when it comes to the relationship of the two he says nothing. When they need room, he willingly gives it and takes no offense, knowing they have precious little time. So aside from how he deals with the couple, of course I don't want him to be spectacularly lonely so I get him to interact with others too- with Eowyn, with Haldir and the Easterlings. In short, it was indeed a Gimli-without-Aragorn-and-Legolas, and I hope that the depiction is very fair to him.

4. **On**** Eomer**. He's so much fun to write although I must admit, I kind of had him fade in the background, toward the end. Originally he wasn't even supposed to be in the story, and the guy Legolas duels with in Chapter Six was written as Aragorn. But he kind of just came alive for me; it seemed fitting that Legolas' mistakes will be pointed out to him not only by Aragorn and Gimli, but also by other people, to give it more validity and believability. I also liked having him interact with Legolas and Aragorn, because in this fic, Aragorn was torn between two archetypes- the lover and the King. Legolas represented the lures of the former, and Eomer represented the need for the other. There had to be a tension between what he wanted and what he had to do. I felt that the conflict could be illustrated by showing a purely Kingly character, like the objectivity Eomer displays when he talks to Gimli and Aragorn about Legolas' crimes. Eomer then served in this story as the objective back-step- both for Legolas to see his actions are wrong, and for Aragorn to see that Legolas must be punished. Once that was accomplished, he faded into the background. To me, all characters must have a purpose and once that is fulfilled, they gradually just take a step back.

5. **On**** Elrohir**. Everytime I decide to put him into a fic, I keep getting into this party-time! mindset. He's so much fun to me and I keep saying, there isn't much on them in the actual Tolkien works but fanfiction made them alive and textured to me, something I hope I can also impart to others as other writers have done for me. As I've also said in my other afterwords, he's depicted as the more exciting twin probably only because of his naughty-sounding name. "Elladan" sounds more sublime, and "Elrohir" is the kind of name mothers like shouting out loud and scolding, haha. So, so. Elrohir falls in love. I wanted these scenes to be fun, with the typical romantic-comedy slant. But I also did not want it to be explicit; female OC's are generally regarded as threatening and annoying, so I was very careful with him and Nadina. Even at the end of the story, nothing is expressly said between them, which is to me, more realistic. They can't get together immediately after Legolas' death… besides, they haven't even formally acknowledged their attraction. I just decided on an open ending in this regard, because it gives the story kind of like, a greater life, more texture in that it creates possibilities.

6. **Adriano**. Fiery young OC Adriano. He grows up in this story, more than anyone else. His journey is actually one that is supposed to mirror the journey of the reader of this story, once again employing my favorite technique of the medium being the message. How does it mirror the journey of the reader? Well, phase one is meeting Legolas, and we are appalled by his actions. Phase two, we learn why he is the way he is, and we understand when we are given our own pains and we resort to succumbing to the same anger. Phase three, is realization and redemption. So Adriano's story is like the microcosm of the entire story's themes. I hope his depiction was at the very least, tolerable. OC's are so risky, and I try to be careful but I'm sure it doesn't always work 100 of the time.

* * *

III. The Major Themes. 

* * *

I suppose by now we can say there are clearly three. **Love**, **War** and **Vengeance**. On Love, you guys can look to my comments above. As for War, I'm sure you've seen that from the various perspectives of the characters, as well as their back stories, the main message is why are we fighting, we are all more alike than we think. I guess this can be best encased by the lyrics of a song from Disney's _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ called "Someday:" 'I pray for something better, it's the one thing we all share.' Or something like that. An example is from Chapter Fifteen: 

_"What are your people like?" Jaron asks Elrohir._

_"People everywhere are just… people," Elrohir answered, "We all just try to make a beautiful life for ourselves the only ways we know how. Some of us go to war. Some of us plant trees and flowers. Some of us write poetry and music. We are more alike than we think."_

_"You fought in the war?" Jaron asked._

_"Yes," answered Elrohir, "I have."_

_"Have you ever killed any of us?" the youth pressed, after a moment of contemplating if he was first, overstepping his bounds and second, tackling a subject he'd rather not get into in afterthought._

_"Yes," the elf said simply, "I have done that too."_

_Jaron stared at him a long, quiet moment. "My father and brothers died in the war."_

_"I'm very sorry for that," Elrohir said, wondering if the lad was seeking an apology. _

_"They must have tried to kill you too," Jaron said, "It is just war, I suppose. I'm glad it's going to end."_

And then in Chapter Seventeen:

_The old soldiers grinned at each other, almost manically. The wars made curious comrades of all her soldiers, from all her sides. They shared the same, lethal fates, the same crimes, the same determination. How late it is that they were all learning they were more alike than different. Haldir prayed that just as this realization was made, it will not end in death for those enlightened. The men were great soldiers, and even better people._

And then in Chapter Twenty:

_Legolas' eyes narrowed as he watched the approach of Morgetti and his army. He was confident of their ultimate victory, of course, he just didn't know how much it would cost. Coming from the desperate desires of his vengeance not too long ago, he knew full-well that there was very little logical arguing with one's broken heart. When one could finally answer, What would it be like, to wake from sleeping and dreaming and instead live out all these desires? To live a dream? His heart once longed to kill those who wronged him, just as much as Morgetti desired to reclaim his lost kingdom._

_We are alike, he thought toward the rebel leader bearing his House's colors proudly, You and I, and all of us surrounding. We all pray for a better world, except we cannot seem to get around it. I let my anger consume me for too long. How far will yours take you?_

That was my message regarding war. It's essentially tolerance, and the realization of our similarities rather than our differences. This is why I put such a face on the Easterlings. I knew the OC's can be a turn-off, and they are really risky in terms of keeping an audience attentive. But they needed names and faces, if I wanted to spread that particular message across.

As for vengeance, my stance is as I've also described in the comments above. At the start of the fic and at its end, the theme is encased in Nicolo's words:

_Let me teach you one final thing, dear prince. All that is truly grave and tragic begins not with death and killing, which is a given as long as there is life, especially in times of war. All that is truly grave and truly tragic begins with vengeance._

And then it keeps recurring- to Legolas, Adriano and Morgetti, specifically. The vengeance thme is kind of like an offshoot to the love/war topic. Love brings us to do things like war sometimes, and then when we get hurt, it can easily go toward the vengeance route. I keep thinking of some of the longer wars that have raged out in the real world, all these inherited wars. Is there a way out? And then Adriano thinks on this too:

_Vengeance… It made everything seem unending. It made Legolas of Mirkwood kill. It made all those who loved them want to kill the elf back. It made Morgetti want to kill Nathaniel and reclaim the Sang-age. Where vengeance began no one could know. But everyone had to know that this ridiculous ride could end with them._

_We are almost at peace, he thought achingly, I wish it for myself, just as I find I wish it for those I once knew only to be foes._

The point? It's been raging forever, but it can end with me.

* * *

IV. The Structure. 

* * *

I had a bit of a time with the structuring of this story… it justy offended by obsessive compulsions in terms of numbers, but well, I tried. Notice that the story is first divided into parts- (1) Those Lost, (2) Possibilitis, (3) Roads and (4) Endings. Within these parts are chapters and interludes. I needed to do this to concentrate of like, a particular subject matter for every part. 

For instance, in **"Part One: Those Lost,"** the big idea is, well, lost people. All the interludes are from FOTR, where Gandalf and Boromir fell. Besides the interludes, in "Those Lost" we also begin to have an idea that Legolas lost Aragorn and Lilian, Eomer was losing sight of the elf he thought was a friend, and Legolas is loosing himself.

In "Part Two: Possibilities," the big idea is, plainly said, what-could-be's. All the interludes are set around TTT, where we are shown all the things that could happen, making us wonder where is everyone going, so many things can happen, where will this go? Particularly, this is the part where the interludes showed a growth in the relationship of Aragorn and Legolas, showed that they could possibly get together. In the present-timeline, it also showed the possibilities of Legolas and the Eastern princess.

In "Part Three: Roads," we see how the paths of people have diverged. In the interludes (all set in ROTK, of course), we see that Legolas and Aragorn will part upon taking a literal road- the Paths of the Dead. We also see Elrohir, Haldir and Gimli going to the East, Legolas going to Eryn Lasgalen and Eomer, Elladan and Aragorn headed for Gondor.

In "Part Four: Endings," there are no more interludes. It's almost as if the present timeline events from parts one to three have become the quasi-interludes of part four. We see that people are trying to remember each other, trying to remember all the things that have been said before, what they learned along the road they've traveled. So, there. I don't think it's very apparent, but as a writer I kind of need the 'parts' cut along with the 'chapters' cut to provide some order in my thoughts.

* * *

V. Some Disclaimers. 

* * *

Aside from its slow movement until my slash decision, I feared posting this fic because it delves in the East a lot- in terms of characters, cultures, geography. There's very little canon on this, so I knew I had to built up an annex of Middle-Earth, almost. The danger here is that it might feel misplaced, disjointed. Like attaching planet mars into Tolkien's universe, for instance. I did not want the world to feel unrealistic, I wanted so much for it to feel like an actual part of M-E. So I suppose what I'm trying to say is excuse the inconsistencies, haha. I really had to grope in the dark for this one. I was like, I can't even make up authentic sounding Elvish names, how in the world could I come up with a realistic, textured Eastern culture? So of course I just drew on a mixture of Eastern cultures to come up with them, made up my own legends, anything to make them feel less 2-D. I hope it worked, haha. 

* * *

VI. Some Suggested Mood Music…

* * *

When I write, I have to have music on. So if you guys want to have an idea of the sound that set the mood of this very depressing little piece, turn to old-school folk acoustic- it's earthy, quiet and pensive, which is the mood I'm trying to create in this piece.

Particularly, I looked toward Alison Krauss' "Moments Like This," "Mystery" by the Indigo Girls, "Smoke and Ashes" by Tracy Chapman and most importantly, "Wild Horses" by the Rolling Stones. I also looked to the ever dependable "Fields of Gold" by Sting, which was the inspiration behind my other story _Last Stand_ also. Lastly, I loved the words of "Put Your Arms Around Me" by Texas and "No More I Love You's" by Annie Lennoxwhich isn't folksy but it's just as good, and the sound is as haunting as the stuff from the LOTR soundtracks.

I loved the sounds, but also looked to the words, they're like good poetry that is still comprehensible, haha. I was for instance, inspired by some of the lines below, _just to name a very few_:

**From "Moments Like This:"**

_Hold me_

_Whisper gently this is what we live for _

_How we learn who we are_

_It defines us_

_Ever reminding us that life never is more precious than this_.

**From "Mystery:"**

_What is love then is it dictated or chosen _

_Does it sing like the hymns of a thousand years _

_Or is it just pop emotion _

_And if it ever was here and it left _

_Does it mean it was never true _

_And to exist it must elude _

_Is that why i think these things of you?_

**From "Wild Horses:"**

_I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie_

_I have my freedom but I don't have much time_

_Faith has been broken_

_Tears must be cried_

_Let's do some living after we die_

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_Wild, wild horses_

_We'll ride them someday_

**From "Put Your Arms Around Me:"**

_So put your arms around me _

_You let me believe that you were someone else _

_Cause only time can take you _

_So let me believe that I am someone else_

**From "No More I Love You's:"**

_  
__No more i love you's  
The language is leaving me  
No more i love you's  
The language is leaving me in silence  
No more i love you's  
Changes are shifting outside the words  
_

I don't know if you guys like listening to those soundtracks that come after the movies, but I sure do. So if you want to see where this fic is coming from, or just wanna hear some smashing songs, look them up, they're incredible!

* * *

VII. Reviewer Responses and Thanks. 

* * *

**To abernaith**: based on your reviews, I can see that you must be a very passionate person… not only in your request for blazing love and expression of approval of fast, consuming passions but also in your fiery analogies. I love your diction, and I am really very thankful for your helpful reviews. Keep on blazin, hon:) 

**To am**: thank you so much for your incredible support. You were there reading and reviewing almost every step of the way, and for a fic as unpopular as this one (especially coming from "For Every Evil"), every single letter of your thoughts counted. I suppose you should be a little irked at me because all I gave you in return was your tears, haha. But I really hope you enjoyed the ride :)

**To Aranna Undomiel**: Thank you so much for your insightful comments. And you're right, haha, I do tend toward the heavily philosophical. I suppose that's because I really have no experience in this slash thing so I try to internalize and then form an opinion. I'm so glad that you appreciated my depiction of legolas, eomer… I really work hard on representing borrowed characters fairly, and in a manner that is still very familiar to the readers who love them :) as for the OC's, thanks so much for taking the time to know them. I had a lot of hesitations coming up with a believable set of Eastern characters and an Eastern culture. I hope it came across and thank you so much for your time :)

**To Beth, Ella-Elbereth Mystic23**: Thank you for taking the time out to give my story a chance despite the fact that slash isn't really your thing. I know it's always a gamble, like you're always thinking you spent this much time reading it and then it turns sour in one point and you may feel like your time is wasted. I hope I didn't give you that experience, and that the story and characters that grabbed you at the start despite the slash element held strong throughout the rest of the fic :)

**To The Cheese ****Turkey**: Wow, thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic, even though its not usually your cup of tea. I'm so glad also that you think the quotables in this story are nice… When I work, I get inspired by scenes or conversations that pop into my head and I build a tale around that, so I guess that's why you find some lines nice. I mentally dub them the 'trailer lines,' or like, those phrases that have a ring to them so they're put in movie trailers haha.

**To Child of the Golden Leaves**: Thank you so so much for taking the time to read and review. I know that I confused you a whole lot down the line, I just hope it cleared up toward the end. Anyway if you have any questions, please e-mail me at :)

**To Ciryaquen**: oh my, haha, when I read the first parts of your review I thought you were mad at me, haha. But you're right, I suppose, in that leggy was the sacrificial lamb in this bit- in his life, even in his death which was also useful in the sense that Aragorn can be with arwen, elrohir with nadina, the treaty solidified, teach people forgiveness, end the war, etc., etc., etc. I think it's also right to expect from Aragorn as you do because indeed, love is supposed to go both ways. But I guess the only way I can think to salvage this for you is the belief that loving is giving and giving should be enough. As leggy tells his father in chapter fifteen, let the privileges be yours but let the giving be mine. Let my reasons be mine. So in a way, in his giving, he took the most also. Or I guess I'm trying not to seem like I really deprived the poor elf, haha. Anyway, thanks for the praise and for reading :)

**To Dragonfly**: Ack! I'm so sorry for doubly upsetting you with slash and death. These elements in particular are very very tricky and I can only hope that you don't feel I wasted your time, and don't feel that these turns had no place in the development of the story (I personally hate stories like that, where some things seem to happen _just because_ the author felt like it or what- I firmly believe that everything in a story should have purpose, and I hope you saw the purpose of these two turns in my story). Anyway, thanks so much for reading and reviewing despite the upset, I know also that you were hesitant with going down the dark slash road so thank you for the faith :)

**To Eathlin**: Thanks for going down this experimental route with me… it is my first time writing lotr slash as you said it is yours reading it. Thanks for the trust and the companionship, haha :) I hope you found the experience interesting (or bearable, at the very least haha) :)

**To EJ**: oh wow, thanks for the comments. I really do try my best with the characters so I'm just so so happy that it translates. Thanks for the time you took for "Love, War" and my other stories. And no, you're not just grasping at straws. We do both believe that love is hard enough to find and fight for for hetero's, much more for others who have even greater constraints posed on them by society. I'm so glad it came across in my work, and I hope that a lot more other people get to see this the way we do, so we'd have more tolerance in the world :)

**To Elessar-Lover**: Your generosity is always a wonder to me. I know you were very very wary at the start, and kept up your disapproval of slash althroughout the story. But you were always there reviewing every single part- which was always a sign to me that you're very giving not only with your time to read, the time to review, but you also gave my story the time you could have used to do other things that you believed in more. I'm just really very very happy that I have a reader like you to back me up in all my strange creative forays. Your time is appreciated to an extent that I cannot begin to explain, especially since you gave it in spite of the difference in our views. A great big thanks to you, and I hope I did not disappoint your faith :) hugs!

**To Laer4572**: Thank you so much for always always always making the time to read and review. I'm just glad that I managed to give you some of your time's worth in that you appreciated my characterizations of leggy, nathaniel, gimli and the interludes as well. I'm so so so appreciative of the time you put in to read and review. You were there every step of the way and I always look forward to hear from you. Oh and by the way, you guessed right. I do take cookies for bribes, thank you for asking haha, so we can get the word out there and people just might gimme cookies haha :)

**To lo**: Oh, no, I'm sorry. My homepage isn't linked because I don't have one! No knowledge to make one, no time to keep it updated, all that. Basically my fics are just in and hosted in a few other sites hosted by people who e-mailed me to ask if they could. I'm also happy that you're interested in said non-exsistent homepage, sov sorry to disappoint. Thanks also for appreciating my chosen slow-burn slash flow. I also don't like the jump-right-in variety :)

**To May**: Aaaah, very very interesting and perceptive questions you have here. I can see how a seasoned slash reader could see through all my inexperience, haha, and I'm very thankful that you did take the time to read and to review despite the feeling of being slightly short-changed :) So before I answer any of your questions, I want to say right off the bat that I'm really very grateful for your time. I'm even more grateful for your insightfulness and the careful thought you gave my fic. I'm not particularly a believer in slash. But more than that could ever be, I do, however, have a great believe in love, in all its forms- the slash angle is as incidental to me as the body is incidental to the loving soul (many would beg to disagree of course). As you may have read in my notes above, this story somehow mutated into my statement regarding love and I guess I'm not used to writing slash as you've noted, so I'm not quite equipped yet with the translation of my beliefs (especially also since I do not read slash lotr fics also) just yet. But I will try to improve, should I get inspired again by this tack. Thanks so much and I hope I'll still hear from you then, haha :)

**To Orlandochick05**: Thanks so so so much for your constant reviews, they really really keep me going :) I'm so sorry the geography confused you, I just hope you didn't find the confusion too detrimental to the rest of the fic. This story is also a stand-alone from my others. Basically, Exile-Escape-Return is one arc, and Allies-Ghost of Imladris-Sacred Betrayal is another arc. I don't have any other arcs, everything else stands apart from everything else. And lastly, your fabulous quip that leggy should just marry the girl and 'take lots of business trips' really cracked me up, haha. It's so clever and practical. I'm sure anyone in that situation would think so also :) thanks again:)

**To Partheon**: thanks for the very astute review. You're right, I do have pov troubles at times. But I'm just so happy that you appreciated the other elements of my story- characters both original and borrowed, and the dialogue. I really try my best to make the depuctions realistic and fair, and I want the dialogue to be memorable. I really work hard and I'm so glad it comes across and I'm even happier that you'd take the time to read and review :)

**To Platy**: As always, I love your vivacity :) thanks so much for reading and reviewing despite all your real-life commitments. I hope your two 10-page papers went well and that my story isn't detrimental to your studies, haha. Huggles to you and hope you'll join me also in my next efforts:)

**To Princessdza**: modern tolkien? Oh wow, you really really floored me with that one. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and to say so :) I hope the rest of the story didn't disappoint :)

**To Zerah**: You're really really very perceptive :) I enjoy reading your reviews, you really stun me by pointing toward the nuances I thought that only I can see, and I thought I put there only for personal satisfaction. For instance, in fee2 you're right… I was toying with the idea of elrohir and the waitress even if their encounter in fee1 had been short and shallow, haha. Arwen's "I'm jealous of you" in this fic was also very much a literary device, just a little jolt to make leggy squirm. to me, she really is clueless about the love affair, but of course even as the writer I'm unsure, and we can all always speculate :) And you're right, I do plan my stories a lot… I like order, I like structure, I like purpose. If something happens, if a line is said, it will be useful down the line. As for precocious little Dorjan… you're right also, in that he's there to kind of shake things up a bit, this man-boy. I like to think of him as one of those children from places like Palestine, these kids who grew up amidst war, with these haunted eyes. There is something all at once young and old about them. I figured if we're talking about Tolkien's ever-warring East, we have to delve into that kind of culture and its consequences on kids. The most accessible kind to draw from is the maturity of our own children from still relatively unstable places. So there. I'm so glad you can see these things :) Thanks so much :)

**To Alatariel Narmolanya, Christine, Donarouie, The Drinking Game, Elveneyes, Eyes of the Sky, Hyper-Health-Critic, Kirsten Z, Kitty, Lady Lunas, Mischa Kitsune, Nessa Ar-Feiniel, Ninthwraith, Rougish Smile, Sesshyangel, Silwyth, Templa Otmena, Tobias 145 and Zublefir**: THANKS SO MUCH to you guys also for taking the time to read and especially to review. Every single one counts especially for experimental (at least to me) and unpopular fics like this one so I'm deathly grateful. I hope "Love, War" didn't disappoint you guys, and I hope it captured you enough to want to see my other upcoming stuff as well. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU… I can't seem to say it enough :) If ever I forget anybody, please kick me because I really really really wanted to mention everyone because you all mean a lot to me… I even made an excel worksheet so I can make sustematic reviews addressing issues and saying thanks. THANKS THANKS THANKS :)

**To Dolphingurl678, EJ, Joee1, Pellawethiel and Stoneage Woman**: all right you guys, you asked for FEE 2, so I hope this little preview tides you over for a little while as I work on it :)

* * *

VIII. My Next Project. 

* * *

Okay, some of my older readers may be happy to hear I really really am hard at work on the sequel to "For Every Evil," simply called "For Every Evil 2." I'll give you a preview, but remember this is hardly final so don't take it as the official chapter one: 

Author: Mirrordance

Title: **For Every Evil, 2**

Summary: For every evil that rises, we are given ways to fight it. It's 2005, and Legolas and his reclaimed, resurrected friends come together yet again to fight a faceless, all too-modern foe: bioterrorism.

" " "

1: Antiques 2

" " "

Kinshasa Highway, Zaire

Western Africa

Early 2005

" " "

Some have claimed that these organisms were the truest, oldest inhabitants of the Earth. No one knows how they came to be, or from where. They simple _were_, as far as we know.

These organisms are some of this aged land's grandest mysteries, and also unfortunately some of its most vicious killers. They were predators of the best kind—once they bit into you, you were as good as dead. Many, certainly, have died of catching them. Or perhaps… these organisms- these viruses- weren't ones you caught, like a common cold. These viruses caught _you_. Killed _you_. _Devoured you_.

Darwin once said that in this world, the fittest will survive. These killers hunted so well, and seemed to have no natural predator, or any discovered cure against them either. They can devour humanity. It seems only a miracle that they have not, at least, not just yet.

Brad Greer, who once was known as Boromir of Gondor some countless years ago, mused on such things as he walked about the infamous paved, concrete road called the Kinshasa Highway in Zaire, known in certain circles as the AIDS Highway.

_Why it looks just like any other road_, he decided. But then a little thing called the Ring of Power looked just like any other ring too. And what havoc it wrought!

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Brad looked to the woman beside him, Dr. Chandra Bouvier, an older female colleague. Her voice was rough and heady with her French accent, a voice that matched her weathered smile. She must have been a looker back in the day, still was as a matter of fact, but she had the bad habit of constantly looking after him along the course of their trip in a manner that was so motherly it was killing any finer fantasies.

"Sure is," Brad agreed.

"I know it's your first time here," she said to him authoritatively, "But you have to trust me when I say it never dies. The… how do you say…"

"Awe?" Brad finished for her.

"Yes," she smiled again, "It never dies."

"Over the frigging highway?" he asked.

"Africa," she said to him primly, as if it should have been plain, "In general. But Kinshasa too, sure."

Their convoy of 3 Land Rovers was pulled up along the side of the road. The bevy of intellectual passengers felt the need to stop along the highway and mull over how it may have changed the face of the world, pilgrimage-style. The party of travelers made for a group of twelve, most of them doctors.

Chandra was a French expatriate who was more a local than a foreigner. Africa was home to her, and she was a practitioner in Nairobi. Her Swahili was far better than her heavily accented English, and she spoke it comfortably with their local drivers and guides. The rest of the party comprised of Americans like Brad, and also like him, they were part of the Centers for Disease Control, having flown all the way from Atlanta, Georgia to Africa for an AIDS survey.

A delivery truck of miscellaneous fruits and vegetables passed them by. It was not a rare sight _per se_, but their eyes trailed the truck until it was far out of sight.

Kinshasa Highway did indeed look like most types of road. It cleaved across Africa, West to East. It crossed desserts and rain forests, and like most infrastructure, a telling sign of development. But as in all environments all over the world, it infringed on nature too, pressed persistently straight into its virgin heart.

The telling signs that humans were cutting too quickly and too deeply into territory that belonged to someone else was spread across the world. In Florida, people sometimes found crocodiles in their swimming pools. In California, mountain lions in their yards. In Africa, diseases made their leaps into the human population.

AIDS, for instance, was hypothesized as having come from an African primate who made his home in the rain forest. Perhaps a man was bitten. Or he hunted and ate monkey meat, a local delicacy. Or got bitten by a tick. Either way, AIDS broke into the human race. How it may have spread, gave Kinshasa its "AIDS Highway" nickname.

"It's more of an urban legend, actually," Chandra said, knowing that she and Brad were both thinking along the same lines, "But still. The numbers are compelling."

As the Highway brought in growth and development, towns sprouted along its length here and there. And then lone travelers and particularly, truckers and enterprising women and sex workers had their way with each other. And then from catching AIDS from the rainforests through which the Kinshasa Highway cut, it made its way from man to woman, to her next man, to his next woman, to the children she would have, to their spouses, and their children after them… it was an exponential nightmare. And then years later, millions of people around the world were dead.

_And it looks like any other road_, Brad thought again. He took a snap with his digital camera, a photo of the length of the road lined by trees that led into thicker forests, and snatches of homes.

"What is amazing too," added Chandra, "Is the relative kindness of our punishment for infringing here."

"Kindness?" Brad murmured distractedly, as he took more pictures.

"Some diseases that originate from here work much faster and much more brutally than AIDS," she replied, taking his camera from him and waving at him to strike a pose of Indiana-Jones spirit as she took his photograph, "Ebola breakout in the 70's. I was here during that debacle. Ten-day killer, 90 of the time. I burned corpses of many friends, though they looked like monsters and they felt like moldy water by then. They screamed and they cried and they shook and they bled. I promise you're going to be asking God 'Why.'"

She returned the camera to him and he looked at the photograph. She was apparently very lousy at it, and half of his face was cut off. He deleted it but said nothing.

"Were you scared?" he asked.

"I wasn't fool enough not to be," she said grimly, "Time and again you tell yourself to run. Get away. Leave them."

"And the other times?" he asked.

"And then you remember you're a doctor," she replied.

"And then you stay," he finished.

"You are indeed one of us, Greer," she said, approving.

"I'm just a lab guy," he corrected her.

"Close enough," she shrugged.

Another truck passed them by, and as in the one before, their eyes trailed after it. It slowed as it neared them, and then sped up again. The face of the lone driver was a very memorable one by most standards. He had a shock of red hair that covered one eye, and the rest of his mane was an even less natural cherry-blond, given that his face had a more Asian look to it. He vanished down the road.

"Tourist," Chandra said with a shrug, dismissively, as if she had not ever been one herself. "Here comes more," she said, nodding toward an approaching yellow Land Rover. It slowed too as it neared their convoy, and to Brad's complete and utter surprise, a familiar blonde head popped out from the shade of the truck.

Interpol Agent Horace Harding, as Haldir of Lothlorien was going by these days, looked as stunned as he, and they blinked at each other for a long moment.

"Boromir!" came the jovial voice of the ex-dwarf from Harding's passenger seat. Jimmy Goran was more openly joyous at the sight of Brad.

"Jimmy," Brad waved at Gimli, pointedly using his 'modern' name. "Heya, Harding," he nodded to Haldir.

"You folk need help?" Haldir asked him.

"Oh no," replied Brad, "We just stopped by to look around."

Haldir glanced at Brad's traveling companions. "I have heard of a CDC survey team dropping by. I didn't know you'd be amongst them."

"Oh, didn't Leland tell you?" Brad asked, "I got a spiffy job offer from them some months ago."

"We've been away from the country," Harding replied cryptically.

"So what brings you two out here?" asked Brad, "Business or pleasure?"

"What else brings us anywhere," grumbled Jimmy.

"We must go," said Harding, "We're staying at the Mount Elgon Lodge. Come by if you're in the area."

"I don't know," said Brad with a nervous laugh, "I'm kind of like a low-ranking dog here, they just tell me what to do. And to think I got out of LA to keep Aragorn from bossing me around, ha. And besides," he added wryly, "Last time I got into a row with the two of you, I didn't come out so pretty."

"Well old friend," said Jimmy, "You learn quicker than I. I should have known I'd get into straits when the damned elf asked me for a job as his partner."

Brad reached over and shook both their hands warmly. "Be careful, guys. I will see you soon."

He watched the truck vanish into the distance, and the just smiled as the baffled Dr. Bouvier beside him asked, "Did that fellow there say something about elves?"

" " "

Imladris,

Vienna, Austria

" " "

There was a saying he heard from somewhere some time ago. It's said that if you want to know how a woman will age, go have a look at the mother, and then see if you still wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. Elladan was finding that the saying had a remarkable ring of truth to it.

His long legs were stretched before him as he rebelliously slouched in what last he checked was his living room, until closer inspection made him realize that it had in fact already been taken over by hostile forces.

Rivendell, he feared, had been taken by the enemy at last, taken by a betrayal from within. Anatalia Craxi, the love of his eternal life, her mother Giovanna and The Wedding Planner have laid siege to fair Imladris, and it was captive in their demented, collective imagination.

"Citrine," the two women and the effeminate man breathed, triumphant, as if they've suddenly come to a wild, world-altering revelation after a rather lengthy and confusing debate that shifted from English to Italian and then back again and over again. And then, as if in a nightmare, they all turned and looked at him with their eyes alight, expecting he was still abreast of what they were talking about.

Elladan smiled at them beatifically. Oh if he didn't love her so much he'd have been out that door fifty years ago…

"Excuse me?" he murmured in reply. He's never been known for inattention, but this was ridiculous. He was surprised they could even understand each other.

Anatalia and her mother rolled their eyes at him, the former muttering he was just like her father, at the same time that Giovanna said the same of her husband. In that instant, Elladan was certain he'd been written-off as useless in this enterprise, and that was a profound relief to him. No more crazy questions, damn it. He just wanted her to be his forever…

"This is not my forte," he said belatedly. The slight, apologetic smile was certainly enough to wring a sympathetic one from his fiancée. Ana returned the sheepish look at once.

"I am sorry, Elladan," she said, her thick accent dancing over the syllables of his name, "There is only one of me in this family. All the _loco_ of weddings and families and grandchildren is highly concentrated."

He smiled and nodded in understanding. But oh how he wished his own entire family was here to give the both of them twice the insanity and four times the headache. "Would you ladies mind of I stepped out for a breath?"

"You can get Elrohir to sit in your stead," Ana laughed, "He looks just like you, and you don't say anything anyway."

"He fled from here hours ago," Elladan said good-naturedly, teasing her, "Cleverer than I it seems, though we look alike."

" " "

A Classroom,

Los Angeles

" " "

_They were not quite sure of who he was, what he did for a living, why he had this nobility that seemed unparalleled. The mystery was dangerously intoxicating, and has been ever since that first time they set their eyes on him…_

They met in a classroom in Los Angeles

_… They instantly liked the look of him: aristocratic, ageless. He was just so beautiful_. _He had a curious pair of ears, longer than the usual._ _Not that very many of them noticed, for there was a host of great things that were unusual about him: his eyes were a stunning frosted blue, and looked at things and people sometimes warmly, sometimes imperviously. He'd win a staring game by a mile, as if he had all the time in the world _(because he did, actually)_. His hair was spun gold, his face was chiseled by what surely must have been a pair of godly hands. His voice was even and melodious, carefully accented in this particularly high-brow British way…_

Or maybe it was just that his audience this morning was a precocious batch of seven-year-olds and all they truly cared for was if he always brought a gun, if he ever shot anybody, if he ever got shot, could they see the scars please _please__ please_, et cetera, et cetera.

Legolas glanced at the teacher, genuinely wondering if he had to censor himself for violence. The old woman just urged him to continue with wide, excited eyes from beneath her thick glasses and flailing arms, looking a tad bit mad with her unkempt white, curly hair. She was encouraging him along as if he himself was just seven years of age as well, instead of the actual _seven ages_ give or take.

The children were sitting before him in a semi-circle as he stood on the raised platform, explaining to them what he did for a living, wanting to encourage them to be in the police force themselves.

In all his innumerable years of living, he's never felt this much short-changed! With his face plastered all over the major newspapers and human interest magazines in Los Angeles ever since that insane incident in Rome last year, he's unwittingly become a bit of a much-loved public figure. And so a few weeks ago, in the middle of a children's birthday party in the suburbs, his partner Rafe Montes' seven-year-old son Mikey asked if the famous Detective Leland Greene could _please please please_ be in his show and tell?

_All heads expectantly turned his way: Rafe's, his wife Julianna's, all their children's, all the other kids who were there. It was Mikey's birthday. How could he have said no?_

_"Oh for god's sake, Montes," Legolas had said to his partner in a low tone when his voice was drowned out by the jumping cheers._

_"What?" Montes asked him obtusely, "Kid's been bragging about knowing you, man. He sure hasn't been bragging about his daddy."_

_"But Montes," whined the elf uncharacteristically, "Don't they bring pets and weird inventions to these things, not people? I'm going to look like a circus act."_

_But he'd already given his word, and the word of Legolas of Mirkwood had always been cast in _mithril_. Besides, his boss the Captain, who was still very much irked at him for all of his most recent misadventures, decided to let him recuperate from his already secretly healed wounds by making him a goodwill ambassador to the schools to encourage enlistment to the police force._

_"Enlistment?" he had asked, incredulous, "But sir, they are only seven!"_

_"It's never too early to start, Greene," the Captain barked at him, "You won't let little Mikey Montes down, will you?"_

_"No," Legolas had said glumly, "No sir."_

And so there he was.

"So you have a gun right now?" a pert-nosed little girl asked him, looking a bit suspicious.

"Yes," replied Legolas, "But I know how to keep it safe around you, not to worry."

"Why don't women cops get to come over and talk to us?" a burly boy asked him.

"I'm not sure…" Legolas began, but the answer seemed to be more than a little bit unsatisfying. Admitting lack of knowledge was apparently lowering his stature as resident adult. "Well they're more busy than me."

"How come?" the boy pressed.

"Well," Legolas paused, racking his brain desperately, "Well they work, right? And then when they get home, they have to cook, and clean, and take care of the children…"

His answer was making the teacher frown.

The pert-nosed little girl raised up her hand. "Lieutenant, I think that's called the Double Burden."

Legolas felt his cheeks flush.

_Little girl_, he thought darkly, _I think you read too much…_

The Double Burden was a feminist buzz term which referred to how the modern woman was expected to have a career, and also expected to look after the household while men are not.

"Really, Lieutenant Greene," the annoyed teacher approached him after the short question and answer session, asking, "Your ideas are surprisingly archaic. Whatever _era _did you come from?"

To be continued…

" " "

The finalized version will be appearing in a month or two or three, or maybe in a few weeks, it depends on my schedule and my mood. In the meantime, if you guys want to find an excellent read, look up the books that inspired FEE2: "The Hot Zone" by Richard Preston. Riveting stuff, I tell you, and NONFICTION to boot! I read it and totally couldn't put it down and when I finally finished I couldn't sleep. And it's the root of all my germ-fears and cleanliness compulsions haha. Anyway, look out for FEE2, thank you for all your support and 'TIL THE NEXT FIC!


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